2003-11-25 - 12:16 p.m.

Call me Mr Grumpy of a morning, but it�s not my vision of a perfect start to the day to have a violent lunatic screaming �Do you want a piece of me!?!� at me whilst ushering me with some physical force into the path of death-promising oncoming traffic. Delirious psychopaths smacked up on drug pills kind of go with the territory if you�re wondering back to your house at 3am, but they�re less expected among the morning commuters, gloomily making their way to the tube station. For one thing, you have to get up pretty early to be as high as a badger by that time in the morning.

He seemed to come out of nowhere, and all of a sudden his frothing mouth was about an inch from my face. The question hung there for a second or two, anyway. �DO YOU WANT A PIECE OF ME?!?� he repeated, kindly refreshing my memory. I wasn�t sure if this was as part of an ongoing general survey of the immediate population, or whether he was interested in my personal feelings.

To be honest, I�ve never really ever wanted a piece of anyone. Even if people are actively giving away pieces of themselves, I tend not to. In the piece-wanting stakes, I�m not exactly what you�d call a demanding customer.

Anyway, the matter was resolved quickly in a mutually acceptable way, him getting in a swift jab to the shoulder whilst I undertook a valiant retreat and arrogantly claimed the moral victory. His need for physical engagement temporarily satiated, he carried on down the road, addressing other people on the way. They seemed to be as reluctant to have a piece of him as I did, though quite a large part of me hopes that he found a taker, one who would crush his skull into the concrete, and leave his broken form a writhing, bloody pulp.