Fashion week and the Morning commute!
It must be London fashion week, that's all I can think. Or maybe Vivienne Westwood is now a transmutable plague spreading through the London population faster than a Katie Price rebound. Packed onto my first train this morning I have a Tartan beard so fashion forward he makes Alexander McQueen's Armadillo look positively pre-historic. Decked out in scottish magic eye from head to toe he manages to look both 'sudoku-esque' and 'militantly patriotic'. I mentally vomit on him. My journey can cause no further retinal pain, surely. Spoke to soon, my lumbering carriage pulls into New Cross where I am shocked to spot another die hard trendy. The baggy 'knob-head' jumper combined with ubër skinny jeans makes me wretch, but not nearly as much as the Elvis-on-acid greasy do. This pretentious streak of dribble piss has some liquorice coloured Mr whippy spilling down his forehead. As far as chip-fat-chic goes it is fairly impressive but something about it...