My Left Hand Might Be Satan Though

When negotiating the perilous London Underground, we are all aware of the following, unspoken rules:

1. I will not interact with you in any way (unless you are navigating a pram or an elderly person that needs my help)
2. I shall express my displeasure with slow moving people with a combination of passive aggressive tutting, huffing, and eventual overtaking of you
3. Make way for pregnant ladies 
4. Move down the carriage during rush hour 
5. Do not talk to me
6. I said, don't talk to me
7. Stop talking to me.

This phenomenon of being in your own little universe and never breaking the fourth wall isn't exclusive to London commuters, but I have never seen a more fervent commitment to it than in our nation's capital. Which is why I couldn't stop laughing when this happened to me. During the morning rush, I was stomping my way through the throng of people to reach my destination on time. My right arm was looped through my handbag and my left hand, which usually holds my phone, was gallantly swinging free beside me.

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So, I'm strutting around trying to get all these bitches out of my way when, suddenly, my free arm swings round and proceeds to forcefully punch a man right in the penis. I froze immediately, completely mortified as my victim and I locked eyes. With neither of us knowing quite what to say or do we just stood there, mute and staring at one another, whilst all the other commuters ebbed and flowed around us creating what can only be described as some sort of bizarre shame estuary. Trapped and panicked, Punched Penis and I did the only thing a Briton can do in this situation and both just started apologising profusely in unison at each other. After exhausting the word sorry, we eventually made our mumbled excuses and went off in different directions. Me, feeling mortified and yelling one final "sorry" as I disappeared off into the distance and him, probably searching frantically for a good penile fracture specialist.

As if this wasn't bad enough, my day only got more interesting. Now, I like to think of myself as relatively au fait with commuter life. But what I'm learning is that, although my body may well be, my arms and hands appear to have gone rogue.

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So after my Thor's hammer crotch gong incident in the morning, I found myself on the tube once more. This time, on my way up the stairs, my free arm swung behind me hooking into the open hand of a rather attractive lady. We also locked eyes and I suddenly thought, "Gosh, wouldn't this be a great 'how we met' story? I mean, if I wasn't married... and was dating women. And she was single too...... and also gay". It was at about this point I realised that, throughout my bi-curious inner monologuing, I was still clutching this very confused looking woman's hand. So I just stared at it and said, "Oh, sorry!" still, without actually moving or letting go of her. She stared back at me incredulously, like I was some kind of passive aggressive sexual predator. At which point I released her, apologised profusely, and returned home to have a good, hard look at my life.

Now, as we all know, one hand holding session and crotch punch does not a sex pest make. What happened to me yesterday, however, has irrefutably confirmed that I appear to be trapped in a low budget remake of Idle Hands. Yesterday basically began with me walking up a hill and accidently cupping a woman's vagina and ended with me slapping another woman right across the arse.

I feel at this point, I must stress that all the ladies / gentlemen I've inadvertently assaulted over the last 48 hours have all been remarkably attractive. So, whatever my hand is up to, at least we know it has good taste.

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With all this accidental groping in mind, I've been giving this some serious thought and have come to the following conclusions:

1. My hand is Satan
2. People keep putting their bits in my way
3. This could all be my fault
4. My hand is Satan

I think it's pretty clear what's been going on, don't you? My hand is feeling frisky and is, obviously, demonically possessed. It's just a matter of time before I'm shop lifting, slapping children, and giving your granny the finger. Who knows how long this could last? Perhaps it only manifests on public transport, or when groups of people are squashed together near me.

Don't say I didn't warn you, people in lifts, in queues, on buses, at concerts, at parades and especially those in London: If you are sexy and on the tube, look out, because my Satan hand is coming...

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And I just might pinch your bum.

Right, I'm going to go burn some sage
(and put on some gloves).

My Life As An Imposter

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