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February 21, 2008

PhoeniX PhiL & The Blue Badge Of Courage

Filed under: Uncategorized, editorial, PhoeniX Phil — pxpl @ 4:44 pm

10 Mar 2006 

 

PXPL & The Blue Badge Of Courage
Current mood:
cynical
Category: A little lost & found
Writing and Poetry 

Hello there you little spaff monkeys, 

Sometimes it’s not about the glamour… or the squalor, sometimes it’s all about the mundanity. 

This isnt a dig against disability (That would be hypocritical… I have a diseased toe)… this is an observation of human behaviour. 

This is…. 

PhoeniX PhiL & The Blue Badge Of Courage  

I love a bit of Public Transport but hate… nay, DESPISE rush hour.  

Oh! the rush hour ….with all it’s hustle and bustle, germ spreading, tannoy excuses and people tutting. However my Monday to Friday routine dictates that I take part. Stoopid day job… I’m an ideas man but it doesnt pay the rent. 

Still as David Essex once sang, “Every cloud has a silver line-ing…” and sometimes commuting can produce some truly life defining moments. One of which happened the other week… 

As some of my keener stalkers will know , my route to work is Tooting Broadway to London Bridge via the Northern Line. So as i hustled and bustled on to the already crammed tube I sparked up the old diskman. On this paticular day I was listening to Ooberman’s great lost “dark second” album “Hey Petrunko” (3rd March 2003 / Rotodisc / ROTOCD004). For those young enough not to have “lived” through the bleak post Brit-Pop War years, Ooberman got famous when Graham Coxon discovered and signed them and they realeased the “Shorley Walls Ep” which became infamous for the bit at the end of the title track where keyboardist Sophia Churney reads a poem and bursts into tears… see the girl in the song can’t choose between going to university or staying in her home town with her boyfriend. So she “tips the velvet” with a mermaid. or something. 

So, with Ooberman’s “Running Girl” blasting through my headphones, I hustled and (by jingo) I bustled into a tiny standing space by the chair reserved for those with disabilities. The disabled chair was already taken by a stocky gentleman with a ruddy complexion and a bomber jacket, on his left foot was one of the those surgical shoes…. you know the type… big made from grey burlap with huge straight jacket type straps accross the top. He had his left leg slightly stretched out and was monitoring and moving his leg to avoid any possible contact with his fellow commuters. It was evident that “Bomber Burlap” (as i call him) was in serious pain. 

When the tube reached Balham a vast number of people piled on to the tube. At the tail end of this mob was a sturdy yet short gentleman in his mid to late forties. He was wearing a dirty cream jacket (you know the sort… “day centre beige”) and had semi grey hair… his was kinda like a cross between Ernie Wise and Keith off  East Enders. So anyhow “Ernie Beige” (as i like to call him) started to barge through the people on the tube. 

 Ernie Beige then lifted a walking crutch high in to air and gently pierced it through the huddled mass of commuters’ shoulders. He then then squinted his eyes, glared directly down the long shaft of his crutch at Bomber Burlap sitting in the disabled seat and with great force and arrogance prodded Bomber Burlap in the shoulder…. 

Ernie Beige: “Oi mate…” (motioning to his crutch), “you’re in the disabled seat.. .”
Bomber Burlap: “Yeah I know…” (Bomber motions to his injured foot) “I’ve just had an operation mate… I literarly can’t put pressure on my foot for long periods of time”
 

Ernie: “….. but… I sit there every day… I was born with a disability.”  


At this point Bomber Burlap ignored him and went back to his Metro newspaper… Ernie Beige spent the rest of the journey desperetely trying to catch peoples eyes, when he didmanage to do so he’d shake his head and mutter “disgusting”, finally ending the display with a sour nod in the direction of  Bomber Burlap. 

I think the commuters took Bomber Burlap’s side because he was there first    …and also (if they were honest with themselves) because he didn’t smell of wee like Ernie did, but still…. 

…it got me thinking, how would you decide who should rightfully have the seat?  


is there such a thing as “Cripple Trumps” ?…
y’know…
 

“wheelchair bound” scores more points that “false arm”  


…. maybe?  


“deaf” vs. “blind” is a no score draw  


…. perhaps?  


“manky hand” beats “weathered penis”  


…. hmmm, reminds me of last night… well, to be honest every night.  

I’ll never marry.  

  

(PhoeniX PhiL then turns and looks into the camera breaking the fourth wall with a devilish verve, “Yeah… yeah… i know it’s weak to end on an innuendo.. but you know you would have disapointed if I hadn’t stuck it in at the end”   

  

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