Crazy people and buses

Again I am writing on buses.

Sadly, at the one-month flat, we are miles away from a Tube station, and I find myself forced to catch the 29 bus to work every morning. This is a bus that even has its own Wikipedia site: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/London_Buses_route_29 As you will see from that site, the 29 bus in London is noted for its high crime rate and is London's third most dangerous bus route. I didn't know this until today, but it doesn't surprise me. A large number of the commuters on the bus get on outside a large industrial-looking building with the words "adult social housing" over its door. Other commuters get on from outside the similarly industrial-looking building with the words "adult health care" over its door. The rest seem to come from the pub doorways, where it appears they've slept during the night. Then there's those of us commuting into the city for work.

The thing I love about London, and the buses in particular, is the inviolable rule that thou shall not acknowledge any other commuter on any bus at any time. This is a rule that is never broken by the (relatively sane) English commuters. Even on the 29 bus.

Yesterday morning, I got on my bus as per usual. I maneuvered around the man who smelt like vomit (a 29 morning regular) and past the old man wearing nothing but a suit-jacket and boxers (another regular) and sat on a seat next to a man reading the morning paper. Even with my iPod headphones in, and Ryan Adams screaming in my ears, I heard a strange sound. This time, it was a male voice with an American accent, coming from the seats behind me. On closer scrutiny, I could hear blasts of cockney coming through the accent, and realised the accent sounded somewhat incredible, and seemed to be a cross between Jamaican, English and American. After turning down Ryan Adams and puzzling over the accent for some time, I came to the conclusions, first, that this man was crazy and, secondly, that he was most likely English. Given that I didn't brave asking the man his name, I am going to call him Crazy Man (or CM for short).

I am bad at imitating accents in speech, and suspect I will be even worse at attempting to do so in print, but will try nonetheless. the conversation went something like this:

CM: eye is da muvaf*cking soldya man. Ya, like, EYE IS DA MUVAF*CKING SOLDYA. But eye is not da muvaf*cking soldya of Britain. No man. Eye is da muvaf*cking soldya of da rastafairan Kingdom. Or'ight?

silence for a few seconds (I assume he was on the phone - that or speaking to himself!)

CM: no man, I says to dem, eye ain't your muvaf*cking British soldya. Or'ight? I ain't gonna fight your muvaf*cking muvaf*ckers. Or'ight?

silence for a few more seconds

CM: No, not dem muvaf*cking soldyas

At this point, I started to suspect the conversation was not going to move to a stage that I would find even vaguely interesting, so I turned Ryan back up and settled in for the journey. All the while, of course, looking straight ahead and not giving any indication that I had, in fact, been listening to CM. The bus journey continued, with the occasional blast of CM saying motherf*cker behind me.

During all of this, no one reacted. Like me, all commuters stood looking straight ahead (or stayed semi-passed out in the corner, depending on their state of inebriation).

CM then rose from his seat and moved to the middle of the bus. There he started performing a rap accompanied by an unusual rap dance, involving a lot of movement of the arms across his chest and movements with his chin that made him look somewhat like a chicken. From what I could understand of it, the rap went something like this:

CM: Eye is da Mambo. Eye is da devil. You call 666 you get me. I ain't your mambo. No, eye is your devil, on your shoulder.

The rap went on for some time in this vein, although with a few more profanities thrown in for good measure. The unusual dance also continued. In total, this all went on for perhaps five minutes. During this time, no one raised an eyebrow. Not even at their fellow sane commuters. Not one person turned to look, or responded to CM, even when he started walking up to individual commuters and thrusting his face in front of theirs to make eye contact. There wasn't a word said. Even after CM got off at his stop, not one person on the bus looked at the person next to them and smirked, or rolled their eyes. There was absolutely nothing. If you stepped on to the bus as CM stepped off, you would have had no idea that anything out of the ordinary had happened during the preceding five minutes.

But then again, perhaps I simply haven't been riding the 29 bus for long enough, and perhaps this is perfectly ordinary.

I really hope our flat purchase goes through soon!