It soon come
Creative writing has started up again. This week's homework was to write a piece in a style not one's own describing the journey to class, a nod to Queneau's Exercises de Style.
Mine was inspired by this.
It is well known to Londoners and those habituated to travelling on all the modes public transport afforded to us in the capital that every journey is a opportunity for amusement. Last Monday was just such an occasion. It was cold and crisp evening with a light fog causing glowing balls of illumination to encircle each streetlight. My collar was raised but to little effect as I waited for the Clapham omnibus to arrive; the rosy cheeks of my fellow commuters and me a reminder of the week of festive cheer which had but recently ended. Our stage eventually turned the corner into Great Smith Street and we boarded. The driver treated my thanks with less than the customary courtesies and I ascended to the upper deck, sitting at the only available seat. I retrieved my novel, the most recent amusement from the excellent Mr Miéville, fortunately I am not prey to any kind of travel sickness, indeed on a particularly stormy crossing of the English Channel many years before with my family, my siblings ate a hearty breakfast in the galley whilst amusing ourselves by observing the greenness of complexion of those with less than excellent sea legs. No sooner had I opened the volume than my attention was drawn away from the futuristic speculations to a strange noise, caterwauling even, emanating from behind me, in concert with the sour odour of intoxicating liquor. What sport! Not only was the gentleman behind me well in his cups but he was treating all passengers to a rendition of the popular ditty 'Like a Virgin'. One might quite believe this to be a true description of his circumstances given his obvious inebriation, the droopiness of his ill-kept moustache and the pastiness of his demeanour. However that which afforded me the most amusement was his affection of an Antillean accent.
Mine was inspired by this.
It is well known to Londoners and those habituated to travelling on all the modes public transport afforded to us in the capital that every journey is a opportunity for amusement. Last Monday was just such an occasion. It was cold and crisp evening with a light fog causing glowing balls of illumination to encircle each streetlight. My collar was raised but to little effect as I waited for the Clapham omnibus to arrive; the rosy cheeks of my fellow commuters and me a reminder of the week of festive cheer which had but recently ended. Our stage eventually turned the corner into Great Smith Street and we boarded. The driver treated my thanks with less than the customary courtesies and I ascended to the upper deck, sitting at the only available seat. I retrieved my novel, the most recent amusement from the excellent Mr Miéville, fortunately I am not prey to any kind of travel sickness, indeed on a particularly stormy crossing of the English Channel many years before with my family, my siblings ate a hearty breakfast in the galley whilst amusing ourselves by observing the greenness of complexion of those with less than excellent sea legs. No sooner had I opened the volume than my attention was drawn away from the futuristic speculations to a strange noise, caterwauling even, emanating from behind me, in concert with the sour odour of intoxicating liquor. What sport! Not only was the gentleman behind me well in his cups but he was treating all passengers to a rendition of the popular ditty 'Like a Virgin'. One might quite believe this to be a true description of his circumstances given his obvious inebriation, the droopiness of his ill-kept moustache and the pastiness of his demeanour. However that which afforded me the most amusement was his affection of an Antillean accent.