Memo to Self, concerning Repulsive Yobs on the Underground Railway System of our Fair Capital, and your Demeanour and Behaviour regarding the Said Yobs

Dear Self,

Please don't cheek horrid yobs on the Tube. Especially not those who look able, nay willing, to beat you to a pulp in five seconds (on a slow day).

Although their obnoxious behaviour might seem to give you the moral high ground, this would be of limited use to you in hospital or indeed some place more worser. High ground to six feet under, kinda sortafing.

Or did you really enjoy the next few minutes at Euston, wondering if Mr Knuckledragger could be bothered to come after you? Or wondering, indeed, how much it would be possible for you rapidly to alter your appearance, as a precaution against him kindly offering to do so for you? Or do you want to have to carry a nice selection of wigs and glasses against a similar circumstance in future? No, I thought not.

Did you consider at the time the possibility that this was not only a Nasty-Piece-Of-Work™ but perhaps an easily-offended, spiteful, persistent and clever Nasty-Piece-Of-Work™? Sure, the Blessed Ian Dury sang, "you know if it came to a brainy game / you could baffle a blockhead with ease" ... but you don't know that this applies here, and if not you could, even more, be in trouble. Suppose the yob is cleverer than you, and knows Euston better? He's certainly faster ... think on, chuck. Or suppose he's a copper??

Is it worth it? No-one was in danger and no-one else was being oppressed. You could have swallowed your stupid pride, ignored him, cursed him lightly and pianissimo from at least 200m away (having first checked the wind direction) and enjoyed your coffee and croissant very much more without the encumbrance of the big orange fright wig and the diamante Elton John glasses. (In which, to be honest, you didn't look that great.) Think on.

Another thing to consider might be the advisibility of anticoagulated persons standing up to Yob Britain (©Daily Mail thank you so much). It could be a touch tricky trying to explain your bruisy-bleedy tendencies to a person on such a mission and in the full flow of demonstrating their commitment to their, uh, personal ideals. Your high INR might well whisper "not today matey boy" to the cautious listener, but you'd better decide who this listener is going to be ... and just imagine the reaction of the rest of the family if you got bashed around by Mr Tubeyob. Yes, quite. Think on.

Further, someone who gets paranoiac anxiety attacks if looked at strangely by, say, a poodle is probably not quite the right person single-handedly to tackle London's er er moral blight (©Daily Mail thank you so much). Not, at least, without tights, a cape, and some rather good Powers. Voosh.

Face it, self-righteousness is often in any case a bit nauseating, even if the person being self-righteous is actually, er, right. I'm actually a bit annoyed and irritated with you right now, and if you wrote out a profit and loss statement for the whole yob-interaction episode it would be hard to see how it would come out as a net gain compared with the wiser choice of completely ignoring the creep. Think on.

And how about this: if that young man goes off and kicks the dog or thumps someone today, is that your fault? Not at all, a bit, a lot, entirely? Think on ...

Certainly it is most unfortunate that you accidentally stood on his toe, even though it really was the purest of accidents. Yes. But what, precisely, do you think would be your chances of persuading him, in a hurry, of this important fact? Yup, me too.

So now ... first you got unhappy about the yob and then you got unhappy - and anxious - because you got unhappy about the yob. And now you're wasting your life blogging about it. Feedback loop red alert. Red alert feedback loop. On balance you're probably in a less good happiness-state right now than he is. (But shall we write something spiteful about his toe maybe hurting? Ah, perhaps not.)

You need to give up doing this stuff: this is a type of behaviour which you need to abandon, right now. Indignation engenders idiocy. Think on.

And please don't get me started on your driving. Oy veh!

Bottom line: learn anger management. You should, because they won't.

Thank you for reading. Think on.

Yours sincerely,

You.

Blogular management note: I feel that I have abased and embarrassed myself quite enough already in this blogological entity and, as a result, questions along the lines of "but what actually happened?" will not, I am afraid, receive any satisfactory response. Dear reader, it would take more chocolate and red wine than you currently have. Instead, do please feel free to imagine your own little playlet, casting me as a chubby, red-faced, indignant demicentenarian, with perhaps just a hint of Retired Colonel, and casting the yob as, well, a yob, with perhaps just a hint of Yob. (Though ahem of course I am sure that he actually has a most interesting hinterland and is a pillar of his community and loves his Mum.) Put these two uncharming characters (both of whom would appear to have got out of the wrong side of bed this lovely morning) together in neighbouring seats and observe their unlovely interaction. That should pretty much cover it, thank you.