Shouting at random strangers

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.