Skin: not a snack

Loath though I am to discuss more public transport stories, an incident on the 209 yesterday took far more of the biscuit than I imagined possible, leaving empty shelves in the metaphorical supermarket's cookie and cracker aisle. I never imagined I would say this, but I think it even surpassed the silly bitch incident from July.

Once again, and perhaps for the final time, I was sitting in my favoured position on the bus, next to window. As I have explained before, this seat is a prime position as it allows a speedy exit from the vehicle and a relatively clear view down the length of the bus to tut at the traffic ahead or scowl at elderly men who are staging a protest. However, given the seat's popularity with freaks, I will think twice before choosing it in future.

Yesterday, my irritation at being sat next to at all was mollified by the fact that the young gentleman who positioned himself to my right was fairly savoury, with scruffy dark hair and winsome eyes. His girlfriend was also on board but heck, she was all the way across the aisle and thus rendered utterly irrelevant for the journey's duration.

My reverie was interrupted, however, by my companion's left arm, which brushed against my elbow en route to his facial area. I looked to my right to assess the situation, and, to my horror, found that my previously attractive companion was picking a deep, plasma-filled hole in the side of his neck. I failed to conceal a wince of disgust as he continued to excavate the crater but managed not to let any audible sound escape my lips. However, when, moments later, he put the findings from his epidermial excavations into his mouth, I was unable to contain myself. Somehow I managed to turn my gutteral groan into a cough. I turned my head and tried to block out all thoughts of the retch-worthy clawing that was occurring a few inches from my person but sadly, the sun created a perfect mirror in the window of all that was happening behind me and I saw my repulsive young friend eat his own skin/misc. other matter at least three further times before he paused momentarily to pick his nose and ingest this new treasure with similar zest.

As he left the bus, his girlfriend, presumably either oblivious or accustomed to the manual atrocities that her lover had been carrying out seconds earlier, took his tainted hand in her own and the two happily walked off towards Marks & Spencer. Dead skin has never been a highlight of humanity for me but such public consumption of same is enough to bring on agoraphobia.