'I have no idea what he's talking about', I thought as I sat on the bus with the Baron and Mum, opposite to the man who, notwithstanding the fact that I couldn't understand what he was talking about, talked about it anyway, at great length. Indeed, occasionally there would be pauses in his talking about whatever-it-is-that-he-was-talking about, and you would have time to put in a little 'oh no!' or 'how true!' or 'remarkable!' depending on the tone of his voice. For some reason, both he and I felt completely comfortable with this arrangement, though for all I knew, I could have been making completely inappropriate exclamations: 'My finger got chopped off the other day.' 'Excellent!' I wouldn't know. After all, as you will remember, I had no idea what he was talking about.
After the Baron and I got off the bus - Mum having got off a few stops earlier - the Baron turned to me and said:
"What on earth was he saying? I couldn't understand it at all."
Later, we met back up with Mum in the city*. She confessed to us: "I'm never able to follow his conversation. I talk to him whenever I see him on the bus. No idea what he says though."
I wonder what he thought of us? Maybe "what nice people they are. If only they could talk a little more. I've no idea what they're thinking about..."
*The city being Newcastle.
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4 comments:
So talking to nutters on the bus is a proud Train family tradition? Will you one day need to sit down with your son, as your father sat down with you and his father sat down with him, and teach him the skills he needs to talk to nutters on the bus?
If so, cool! I look forward to harranguing one of your decendants in my dotage.
You can learn so much off nutters on the bus. Like, how to be a nutter. And how to be on the bus. Or a combination of the above, like how to be a nutter on the bus, or a bus on the nutter.
And a Novocastrian nutter, no less.
Good place for it. I'd imagine they're still home to the fellow dubbed by media as the 'Serial Pest'.
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