Buckfast Boy

I was on the train going home from work the other night. It was just after 8pm, so clearly late enough for me to be verbally accosted by a drunk clutching a bottle of Buckfast.

I was dressed in my suit (grey with light pinstripe...nice) and sat myself down on the first set of seats at the door, but facing the door, as I like to see who comes on and watch them. At the next stop, Partick, a man got on and sat opposite me. He was about 40 and dressed in jeans, fleece top and had a small rucksack which he put on the seat next to him. Directly behind him, two guys got on. Younger and speaking to each other. The first one seemed to stumble slightly and the one behind literally bounced off the wall as he battered straight on.

The two of them sat beside me, but across the centre passage.

The second guy was very well built, dressed in dark jeans and a tight black t-shirt. He was covered in muscles. Shaved head as well.

The other guy was in a blue waterproof jacket and jeans turned sideways on his seat , placing his rucksack between his knees. He had turned so much his knees were almost hitting me across the passage, which I thought was an odd position.

I realised that they weren't actually together and the rucksack guy was trying to keep from touching the other guy.

The huge guy dumped himself down in his seat and swung forward in one fluid motion to place something on the floor. I risked a glance across and saw it was a small bottle of Buckfast. A very nearly empty bottle of Buckfast. He was very careful to place it against the foot height heater so it wouldn't fall over with he movement of the train, then he sat up again slamming himself hard against the back of the seat, and I could see as I averted my eyes back to my book that he was glaring at the guy opposite him.

I was sitting with a book in my lap and trying to avoid making any eye contact with the drunk.

I was half reading and half watching him in my peripheral vision. I couldn't really concentrate on my book at all.

It didn't take long.

I could see he'd changed his position and his body was facing more towards me.

"Ch' reedin".

"Ch' reedin".

"Haw!! ...... ch' reedin!?" Louder. I looked up. "What?" I said quietly.

"Whit r ye reedin?". I didn't say anything, but I simply held up my book a little from my lap. Only a little, so he had to tilt his head to see the front of it. It was a book by Karin Slaughter.

"Karin! Ha!" He almost fucking exploded with laughter.

"Karin?!. Hahaha". I gave him a slightly quizzical look and lowered the book and put my eyes back down to it, trying to figure out what was so funny about that. And then he enlightened me.

"That's a wummin's book!" He was leaning forward slightly towards me.

"Karin.......hahahah....that's a wummin's book!".

I could repeat this numerous times but you'll have to believe me this went on for about thirty seconds, with his voice getting slowly louder.

The other two men were silent. We all were. Except for Buckfast Boy.

Then, thankfully he turned to the guy opposite me, who had picked up his paper.

"Ch reedin?"

Taking his cue from me as to how to respond to this query, he tilted his copy of the Metro newspaper to appease the man.

"Uh, that's pure intellilec.... intell... intelli... lechoo.... intelligent... uh.. reading there pal."

Metro Man nodded. Saying nothing. Wise.

That was short lived. Back to me.

"You're readin a wummin's book! A fuckin wummin's book."

I stared at the page, reading nothing at all. He may have seen he was getting no reaction and he changed tack.

"That's a fanny's book. A fanny's book. Karin! Hahahaha!, you're readin a fanny's book".

He was pointedly looking at me, leaning forward on his seat at an angle with his elbows on his knees to get his face closer to me.

Still, I gave him no reaction.

I wanted to. I wanted to look up and tell him to his face to fuck off. But there were two other men there and I had the feeling they were just as sceptical as me of his response as they were completely silent and I didn't want to be the one to stand up....and take the beating.

So no reaction from me. He changed tack again.

"You're a fanny. You're readin a fanny's book. You're a fanny....etc etc etc etc" (a long time).

Again. No reaction. Again it was repetitive, and for much longer. I didn't really mind the comments on reading a 'wummin's book', but to start calling me a fanny, well, that was simply uncalled for. And it was constant. And again his little mind found something else to call me. Ingenious.

"Haw, speccy! You're readin a fanny's book. You're a fanny. Speccy! You're a fanny.... etc etc etc etc"

It was at this point he decided to make some enquiries as to the plot of my 'fanny's book'.

"Whit's s'aboot?"

"Whit's s'itsay? Whit's s'itsay?" I looked up at him. I turned my book round so he could see all the words. No pictures. I was very fucking angry at this point and took this opportunity to take the piss a little.

"That's what it says. It's all words. You want to read it?" He slumped back a little, and I turned the book back to myself.

And he continued calling me a fanny and speccy.

You know when someone gets to that stage of drunkenness, when everything they say is louder than it should be, sentences are shorter, more like brief statements, their upper body swings in short jerks back and forth, and their head lolls and does numerous nods as it can't hold itself up any longer. He was at that stage.

It was with gladness I realised my station was coming up, so I closed the book I wasn't reading and tried to unzip my bag to put it in, but the bloody zip wouldn't open, as the bag was crushed slightly against my body. I pulled and pulled at it but it wouldn't move so I gave up on it, and picked up my paper and grasped it tightly with my book.

I didn't want him to start on my 'manbag'. Christ, can you fucking imagine the abuse if that had clicked in his little mind?

I stood up, confidently I must say and stepped the short distance to the door as the train approached the station. I laughed silently to myself as the two other men happened to follow suit as were getting off at the same station.

As I stood at the door with my thumb against the Open button, I looked in the reflection in the glass which I could see clearly as it was dark outside. In between the two other men, he had turned in his seat and was still calling me a fanny as I stood there.

I did contemplate turning to him and giving him a farewell 'fuck off' as I stepped off, but it flashed through my mind that this would be the unlucky time the driver held the doors open for someone and he would have enough chance to lurch out of his seat and leap out the door, onto me and beat the shite out of me.

So I refrained. I could feel myself buzzing a little though as I was so fucking angry at him for feeling it was okay to abuse me like that purely because I wore a suit (light grey with pinstripe....nice).

However, I would throw in the argument that I could have quite easily have abused him for his drunken state, the fact that he was drunk on Buckfast, which is the accepted poor person's drink and the fact that he was getting off the train well after me, as he let slip loudly just before he stumbled onto the carriage.

He was going to Dalmuir.