Stand Up For Your Right

I tell you, it really takes a special type of idiocy to see a long line of people all standing on the right of an escalator and still park yourself blindly on the left.

I mean, what goes through these people’s mind?

Do they stand dumbfounded (with the emphasis squarely on the dumb), looking on it as some sort of miraculous defiance of the laws of probability, asking themselves how is it that given the same random 50/50 choice between right and left that a series of 100 unconnected, free-willed individuals have all, one after the other and without variation, plumped for the right?

Or do they stand there stupefied (with the emphasis squarely on the stupid) thinking “why did my guide book mention the British love of tea, but not this totally crazy thing they’ve got for standing on the right?”, but feeling no need to examine the phenomenon any further, chalking it up instead to just another one of those quaint, twee things that are so endlessly charming about the English and their small island ways and which will, no doubt, feature in the next Hugh Grant documentary (please God let it be soon!), analysed fully in a family-friendly yet in-depth manner.

Well, these people who insist on standing to the left are, as the Spanish say, about as useful as the proverbial zero occupying the same position.

In fact, they’re less so, considerably less so.

And yet the great irony is that it’s they – immune to all common sense and evolved so entirely separately from the rest of all other intelligent lifeforms as they are – it’s they and not the cockroaches who shall be the true survivors of the nuclear holocaust.

Of course, it’s probably them who’ll start the nuclear holocaust in the first place. Bloody Cretins!

P.S. (Post-scream)

While I am talking (ranting) about animals, let me also say that mothers who choose to travel on the Tube with their whole progeny in tow should really take a leaf out of the humble duck’s book, and lead their begats in single file rather than zig-zagging shoulder to shoulder with the little scrotes  (sorry, scrotal issues) in a way that must be calculated to cause the most frustration humanly possible by always leaving a gap just a fraction too small to actually pass around, at least not without whacking one of the indistinguisable spawn in the head  – which it seems society – for some reason – continues to frown upon.

So please Yummy Mummies, do as the duck does, as she alone among the animal kingdom stands possessed with a truly socialist and enlightened sense of time-space economy.

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