MELLIPOP AND THE MENTALLY ILL

Ok, so I have about 11 minutes to do a power-blog before Anton gets home.

There was this retarded guy on the train today - no faux-pockets on this guy. I watched with amused curiosity as he emptied his pockets in between licking his wallet and ogling a blonde teenager in hot pants. This guy was carrying around - in his pockets - a full packet of Doritos, a leather bound memo pad, a pile of hot chips (leftovers from lunch?) and a full packet of Tip Top Crumpets.

He then called out and started a conversation with the leggy blonde teenager. Some random comment about global DVD piracy, at which point he mentioned the movie "The Dukes of Hazzard", dropping into the painfully one-sided conversation the fact that he thought she looked like Jessica Simpson (smooth segueway). His tongue was literally hanging out. She got off at the next station.

It reminded me of one of my many previous adventures with mentally umm..."questionable" types on public transport.

The best one was this partially deaf, completely insane guy I got stuck with on the train home one night from Penrith to Parramatta. An "all-stops" train. Sydney-siders will feel my pain.

So anyway, the guy is clearly insane, swilling from a can of VB before tucking into the bottle of Wild Turkey he had nestled in his arms. So he's telling me about all his guns, how he goes roo shooting all the time and then works himself into a lather by telling me about his ex-wife, who took him to court to gain full custody of their child because she claimed he threatened to shoot her. Or should I say "allegedly" threatened to shoot her. His version of events was that he "only shot animals, never people". For some reason I wasn't comforted by this reassurance.

So anyway, he kept talking about his guns, and how WE were going to go roo shooting together on the weekend (joy). And he kept reaching out to touch my leg as I inched further away and tried to make eye contact with anyone I could, too terrified to do or say anything that might antagonise him further, as he was still railing about his ex-wife in amongst all the gun talk. Wondering whether he might in fact be packing more heat than just that bottle of Wild Turkey. My helpful fellow Sydneysiders, all in full earshot, refused to meet my eyes and stared at the floor - or moved away to sit elsewhere, the cowardly fuckers.

It got to the point where he made it very clear that he intended to get off at my stop with me, as I was mentally counting the steps I had to run to make it home, praying that my gammy knee was going to make it and hoping to God that one of my flatmates was home to let me in. And still no help from anyone. Until my guardian angel got on at Doonside station (go Doonie!). A rather large Maori fellow got on the train and sat opposite me. He sussed out what was going on straight away, met my eyes and began to keep a very keen and discerning gaze on my insane roo shootin' mate.

So my mate kept revving things up, getting more and more agitated, and more and more physically invasive. So Maori dude tells him to keep his hands off me. Insane dude asks him "who the fuck do you think you are, her boyfriend". Maori dude goes "Yeah she is - tonight. Leave her alone". So they start arguing and the Maori guy tells the guy to fuck off, that he knows the likes of him because he is a warden at Parramatta Gaol, pulling out his ID card for good measure. Insane guy replies that he doesn't give a fuck because "I've been to Pentridge mate, I've been to Long Bay - you don't scare me".

So then they both got up and it looked as though fists were going to start flying at any second. At this point, some other random guy on the train got up to join my anonymous Maori hero, ready to do battle with the crazy roo shooter. Eventually, the crazy guy - obviously not crazy enough to realise that he was clearly outgunned and outnumbered - backed off and my Maori hero escorted me off the train, which had thankfully pulled in to our stop at Parramatta after what seemed like a hellish fucking eternity.

I did what any girl in the same circumstance would do. I burst into tears and blubbered my eternal gratitude. Then ran home anyway, despite my gammy knee.

Right. Anton is home now. I don't have time to make this funny. And yes, my past and present tenses are all still confused, I do realise that. Fuck it.