Bloody in Brixton
I'm on the P4 heading for Brixton tube, late for a meeting. Two stops before the tube, an old lady gets up as the bus lurches. Her fold-up seat folds (up) as she falls and gashes her shin really badly on a bolt sticking out from underneath the seat.

Blood dripping fast from the wound as I get to her and help her onto another seat. I take off my jacket (yes, Kenzo - so would you) and roll up shirtsleeves before lifting her leg and gently lay it horizontally. She is in shock at the sight of the wound and tries to get up - I hold her back and retrieve the leg from the floor again as the blood flows faster.

With the ambulance called we reach Brixton and I now have blood up to both elbows - really, a lot of blood, dark red, shiny, all over...

Paramedics board with copper. Cop asks me a few questions, even takes my mobile number, thanks me for helping and I start to get off the bus. No one has any tissues for me to mop up or seems to want to know, so I grab my jacket in my teeth and head into WH Smith for a bottle of water to rid myself of the copious gore. This is Brixton tube by the way, one of the most mental places in London - trust me.

The Smiths assistant looks up at wild-haired, sweaty man waving heavily bloodstained arms and making loud, guttural noises through the jacket hanging from his mouth, calls security guard who chucks me out of shop. Cop from bus now approaches, pushes me against a wall and calls for backup. What a goldfish-memoried wankpot he turned out to be.
(foxbean i am a one in ten, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 23:21, Reply)