He was talking to himself loudly; and was clearly mad; but was being recist in a way that none but the mad could be in public now. 

My judgement was that I was as old as him, and could out nutter him if I put my mind to it, but I was happy to listen to one side of his conversation with himself: even with his:

“Scunthorpe Saturday!.. I’ll give you fire! Bradford?… It’s a Shithole!.. It’s England; not Pakistan.”

Just as I rang the bell for my stop, and started getting up, he said:

“Where are wi?”

I had the following conversation:

“Yer in Bratfert mate. Yer favourite place!”

“It’s a shithole!”

“God bless yer mate. It’s a long time since I met a proper nutter on the bus!”  

I was going down the stairs as I said the last: but I did stand on the pavement blowing him kisses. 

I tell you what: I talk to nutters on the bus. Look at my blog a few days back: where the lad was naming colours. I hope today’s nutter finds help and peace; and the inside of a prison cell because his madness is discounted because of his racism.  

 

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