Diary: The Tales of a London City Cyclist – there’s a twat in my sights

Description: UltraBoy. 5’9, mid to late thirties, dark hair, grey eyes, size 31 waist, weight 72kg with waterproof bag, Mac laptop and a 13kg BFold 7 folding bike.

Description: Twatty McDangle. 6’2, shaven haired, bit smelly, noticeably well shined shoes, at least a size 44 inch waist, beer gut, double chin (maybe multiple), shifty with shoulder bag.

TMc: that your bike?
UB: yes it is
TMc: going to continue to fucking take up all that space?

Let me explain the state of the train – half empty, lots of seats remained and there was nobody else by the doors.

I usually park my folded bike by the doors on the opposite side to the platform therefore not causing a problem for my fellow commuters getting on and off the train. I tuck the bike as tightly to the door as possible, usually making it as compact as possible. I then stand opposite so that if it comes loose or is in someone’s way I can move it and minimise the offence. Moreover I tuck myself in as tightly as possible with my bag wedged between my legs.

Twatty glared at me as I put my phone away. On the off chance this was going to end in a punch up I didn’t want my phone smashed.

UB: perhaps you’d like to stand here fella?
TMc: Yeah

I took position by my bike and gave the space to the stupid fucker but so angered by him I then positioned myself in what would be clearly considered his personal space and glared directly at him and continued to get ever closer. He was a big bloke and had my passive aggressive behaviour aggravated him enough and fisticuffs ensued I might have had a difficult time but I figure the enclosed space might make for a bit of a leveller but he did nothing other than stare at his feet and despite being significantly taller than me I loomed over him menacingly. He slinked off at London Bridge never once meeting my gaze, I got the feeling he was a coward who didn’t know how to respond to the fact I’d been polite to him or the fact that I was clearly pissed off enough to see if I could get under his skin.

The bit that irked was that he had been rude, that there had been tonnes of space just inches away on the train and I wonder if tomorrow I might have to tell him to go fuck himself – should I see him.

According to South Eastern Railways I’m allowed to transport my folded bike with me – hell, the mayor wants me to cycle, my heart wants me to cycle, but this man took offence to the fact that I commute on his train with my bike. However, if you happen to see me on a train with my bike and this offends you please don’t hesitate to let me know, I really enjoy it, can’t you tell?