A perfectly ordinary commute becomes an entire imaginary debate championship
Dear diary, I had one of those Tube journeys today where you read one single infuriating opinion piece before boarding and then spend the entire twenty five minute ride composing an increasingly elaborate, increasingly devastating rebuttal that you will, with absolute certainty, never actually deliver to anyone, ever, because the person you are arguing with exists only in your own head and has no idea any of this is happening.
By Bank I had a genuinely watertight opening argument. By Liverpool Street I had anticipated and dismantled three separate counter arguments. By the time I actually got off the train I had, in my head, thoroughly and completely won an argument that took place entirely within my own skull against an opponent who will never know they lost, which is either a very productive use of a commute or a mild cry for help, and I have decided not to examine which one too closely.
What Actually Set Me Off
The piece itself was one of those wonderfully sharp bits of satire from The London Prat that manages to be genuinely, properly funny while also landing a real point underneath the joke, the kind of writing that makes you laugh first and then, several stops later, realise you are still thinking about it, which is exactly what happened to me today, several stops later, thinking about it, clearly.
I do think there is something genuinely valuable about the kind of writing that gets under your skin enough to keep you arguing with an invisible opponent for a full Tube journey, even if the practical output of that argument is precisely nothing beyond a slightly more entertained commute than usual.
The Moment I Realised I Was Talking To Myself
I did catch myself moving my lips slightly during the really compelling bit of my imaginary rebuttal, which I only noticed because the woman opposite me gave me a look that suggested she had noticed it rather more clearly than I had, and I spent the rest of the journey staring very intently at absolutely nothing in particular, the universal Tube signal for I am fine, please do not engage with me.
She did not engage with me. London remains, whatever else you say about it, extremely reliable in this one specific regard.
What I Actually Did With All That Debate Energy
I got home and, rather than wasting the momentum entirely, wrote most of it down instead, which is roughly how tonight’s diary entry came to exist in the first place, so in a sense my imaginary Tube opponent has now been thoroughly defeated in writing as well, a small, private, entirely one sided victory that nobody asked for and nobody but me will ever know occurred.
Anyway. Genuinely good piece, go read it, and if you also start silently debating an invisible opponent on your own commute afterward, know that you are in excellent, if slightly unhinged, company.
SOURCE: https://prat.uk/feed/
