great moments in bathos

A train to Galway.

It is the Summer of 1986.

My cousin Frances is pretending to snooze in the seat beside me.

It is she who will later become world famous for her capacity as a teacher to kill charging joy riders at forty paces with a blow of her tongue.

Now she is pretending to snooze in order to avoid making conversation with the other occupant of the carriage.

Across from us sits a thick set man in a suit. He looks hot and uncomfortable. His face is an unhealthy shade of red.

A sandwich seller passes up the train.

I buy a sandwich and a cup of coffee.

The noble Heelers is a bit of an innocent.

Certainly not yet the hard bitten Clint Eastwood type some of you will come to know and love through this blog.

I say: "Anyone want a bite of my sandwich?"

The red faced man in the suit says: "Yes, I will if you don't mind."

I said: "Not at all."

He took half a sandwich.

He folded it and squeezed it entirely into his mouth.

The whole half sandwich.

A few rythmic chews and it was gone.

Such a thing I had never seen.

I didnae think it was possible.

My face was a study.

Beside me, I could feel Frances shaking gently with laughter.

Must have been having a happy dream.

The red faced man got up to use the loo.

Still with her eyes shut, Frances said: "Why did you let him take it?"

I shook my head bemusedly.

"It was hard to see any way of stopping him once his intentions became clear," I told her. "Anyway he'd just been talking about his factory going bust. He might genuinely have needed that sandwich more than I did."

"Wah, ha, ha, ha," said Frances sleepily.

And there our story ends.