Tuesday, 3 January 2012

Attack!

I was walking down the long road that leads from my house to the nearest railway station. I've lived in this house since I was two, so I must have taken it countless times. Thousands. It leads into town as well. I know the road, with its phallic bush and Weeping Angel kept in stasis by the light that shines on it. Robinson, Mane and his brother, and formerly my friend-who-is-a-teacher, have all lived on this road. I know it well. Usually, I walk down this road with no event happening. It's just a road. Sometimes I hit the school run; sometimes I bump into somebody I know. There's a live music venue at one end of the road where I've done a gig. The entrance to town is about a mile away. But most days, I just walk down the road without such an exciting purpose.

It passes without incident most days. I've filmed myself walking down the road and set it to Mika's Lollipop. It is an unassuming, if long, road. The other day, I found myself walking down it again. I was on my way to a friend's house. There was pizza on offer. And Sherlock. I was minding my own business and tracing the steps I always take.

And then somebody threw a condom at me.

I've no idea who. A black car with tinted windows drove past at breakneck speed. I barely caught a glimpse of its occupants. The window rolled down as it passed me, and a used condom was thrown out of the window, directly at me. It missed by a few feet and landed with a soft plip! on the damp road.

I paused.

Okay, so it wasn't in its packet, fine. Was it used? It looked wet. But to be fair, it was also raining. And most of them are packed with lube. It could have been caught in the drizzle. Or it could have been used. To be fair, it probably was used. I wouldn't open a condom packet usually, if not to use the rubber inside to slip around my penis, or inflate as a novelty at a nu-metal concert. And it wasn't inflated.

Why would someone throw a condom at me? On this road I know so well? What were they expecting me to do, pick it up? I don't indiscriminately carry other people's semen. Or was it a comment on the bourgeois tendency to ignore safe sex advice and not tie the end, as you're meant to do after usage? Or maybe it was a test - to see if my angelic aura was still active in the light drizzle by throwing a used condom and seeing if it was deflected? But it couldn't have been genuine spite, could it? I mean, I don't have any antagonists. I'm too nice for that!

As I heard a slice of pizza calling me, I started to continue on my journey, taking one last glance at the limp piece of latex lying there in the road.

"You're a used wank-bag as well, mate!" I yelled at the car in the distance as it sped away. Only I didn't actually shout that. I'm far too mature.