When Brixton crazies come out to play!

So I'm going to write this blog about something not so great that happened to me on my way home last week- because years from now I want to remember how brave I became this year. 

I was heading home on Friday night after an AMAZING night in at Zoe's, hanging with her and Lorna and watching movies. I ate tofu for dinner (whhhhhhaaat?! I hear you say) and it was good! I left Queen's Park about 10.30pm to get the train from north to south London; Brixton. I had no problem walking the ten minutes from Zoe's to the station in Queen's Park. I can now walk in London without feeling tense, at night, all alone. My train journey was a pleasant one. I read some kindle on my iPhone (best invention ever!) and listened to some Dire Straits. I got off at the other end, and it all began. 11.15pm, Friday night. This is when the Brixton crazies come out to play. And by play, I of course mean to get drunk and stagger the streets- yelling at people and weeing up the walls. 

I walked from the station to my bus stop - about 20 paces. So far, so good. Still jamming away to a bit of 'Brothers in Arms' I got onto the bus, located a seat and sat down. 2 black girls followed me on- and staggered down the aisle. One of them was covered in mud and swaying so much she fully relied on her friend for support. I felt bad for her. 

They sat behind me- which didn't bother me- provided she didn't vomit on my neck. I could hear her spitting on the floor- you know, the way you do sometimes when you're hanging over a toilet trying to vomit.  My stomach churned but I managed to ignore it. 

A tall black man in a red coat got on and stood by the back door. Then it really started. He yelled at them, told them that they embarrassed their race, were prostitutes because they had nose piercings an so on. He seemed mostly concerned that they might vomit on the bus. Perhaps he has been up-chucked on a night bus once before... 

Anyway. This yelling, effing and blinding continued- backwards and forwards, all the way to my stop. I couldn't  wait to exit. I hopped off and realised that the man was also getting off. Nobody else did. I was relieved when he went left, as I was going right. I crossed over the road to walk up Claverdale and noticed footsteps behind me. Panic. He was behind me. My headphones were still in- though had been turned off since the shouting started on the bus. I could hear the man saying "Did you see that, yeah? Did you see!??" I pretended I couldn't hear him. I did not want to speak to him. Three more houses to walk past until mine. 

Again; "Did you hear? Hey- I'm talking to you..." I walked faster. Next thing I know? He pulled out one of my headphones and addressed me again. I replied in my strongest, bravest (completely and positively acted) voice with "Yes, I did see them. But it's not my business" and with that stepped into my front gate, keys in hand. He muttered something and walked off. Could I get my key in the door? Could I heck. I battled, hands shaking, for what felt like forever, to the point Fola came out from the lounge. I was finally inside and she asked how my night was. With that I burst into tears. I got such a fright from that man- how dare he touch my headphones and shout at me on a dark street. What was he thinking?!

With that Fola wanted a full description and told me to get in the car as she was going after him and I'd need to identify him. I stood in the doorway literally whimpering and whining saying I didn't want to go... I can laugh now- but boy did it shake me up a lot. Fola didn't find the man- but it's quite nice to know I have myself a protector!! 

London. There are pluses and there are minuses. Brixton on a boozy Friday? I think it's a minus...

Cheery bye :)