Boot

http://thumbs.imagekind.com/member/3dcbd126-280e-4890-b3b5-bb08ddf7451e/uploadedartwork/650X650/f1a20282-76b5-4479-9bef-1265319be156.jpg



Yate train station is less of a station and more of a request stop. When I arrive the train's not due for another 40 minutes but the bench is already occupied by Mr Cardiff Builder Boy and his Builder buddy who may or may not be from Cardiff (it's hard to tell as he only communicates in guttural grunts that may or may not have Welsh undertones). Grunt boy is definitely the underdog – from time to time Mr Cardiff stomps on the top of Grunt's right boot to 'test it out against bricks you know'. Protruding from his well stomped boots are a pair of molding blue football socks and tucked into these a retro shellsuit, navy with single white stripes running up the side seams. Then come Calvin Klein pants -at least half of them bulging out over the shell wasteline. A non-descript grey jacket and finally zigzag tram lines into a blond-died crew cut.

Then driveling Cardiff catches my eye, winks and stomps Grunt. 'Do your spitting thing', he commands. Grunt grunts, leans right back, tilting his neck, his eyes bulging and his throat gargling manically - then in a flash the phlegm shoots out like a bullet but I don't see it land. I've never seen anyone spit so far. Cardiff sums up my surprised gaze and cackling in delight at the obvious success of his party trick, he stomps Grunt's left boot for a change.

Only 15 minutes to go and the thin platform rapidly fills up. Old Mr. Bristol wearing a cap that seems on a level with my waist and puffing flavoured tobacco from a pipe almost as long as he is. Plain and Pregnant Miss Yate who slinks round the small control shed for a rolly fix, looking around with guilty challenging eyes. College skivers A, B and C competing for the skinniest jeans prize. Wanna-be Miss Marple, prim and beady with a tightly rolled umbrella held firmly in black-gloved hands. And Miss Beauty Prize Queen with fluttering inviting lashes. This last arrival finally silences Cardiff and puts an end to the stomping as his mouth falls open. Grunt grunts and then gruffly nudges Cardiff and laughs 'stop staring, she's not gonna have an ugly piece of shit like you' and he stomps Cardiff's right boot.