London. It’s a funny place.

I work in the West End, just on the edge of where Soho meets Oxford Street, and at this time of year I usually think twice about venturing too far from the office due to the mass of Christmas shoppers.

There’s something about Christmas shoppers, particularly London ones. They fall into two categories:

1) The lobotomised – they can be identified by the vacant expression and slow ambling walk; they’re oblivious to anyone else.
2) The SMART weapon – they can be identified by their bulldozer approach to navigating pavements and the large number of bags in each hand.

This period is usually followed, on Christmas Eve, by a mass exodus and London empties of all its workers. This is the best time to be in London. Commuting becomes humane.

And so, on Monday, when this bliss like state seemed to have begun early I was cautious. Then it happened again on Tuesday and I became cocky. This, I thought, is cool. I can relax.

Foolish, foolish Taff.

Yesterday was a bit cold. And so being London the whole rail system collapsed at 5pm. No announcements, no signage, no extra services, just chaos. This then backs up on people walking to and from stations, this in turn spills onto the roads, before you know it drivers and pedestrians are at each other’s throats.

Which is what happened to me.

To the man, best described as a mentally challenged thug, who felt it was entirely reasonable to try and overtake traffic that was queuing at a red light, and then threaten me with physical violence for pointing out the near death experience he caused, I say:

You sir are an arse! I shall have to turn my back on you.

And let that be a lesson to you.