Sometimes I get mornings where I wake up, feel aimless and frustrated as I pad around my flat for no reason in particular, and then get a sudden overwhelming desire to stick my head out of the window, select a random passer-by as my target, and shout at them: “Go on, then! Come and have a go! Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough!”
Before I end up doing this, however, I invariably change my mind about what I’m going to shout. I start thinking about the newscaster Howard Beale in Sidney Lumet’s 1976 film Network, and then I decide that instead I’m going to select another random passer-by, fix them with a manic stare, and bawl out: “I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore!”
Obviously, I don’t do that either. In fact, I don’t lean out of the window and shout at any passers-by. Not at all. Because that way surely lies madness, and possibly getting carted off to a nice quiet room in a secure location. Instead I drink tea and breathe.
I’m just saying … er, whatever. I’m not even sure. I’m just saying that some mornings I think about it. A lot.
And this isn’t even one of those mornings.