I was always a nervous
traveller. I expected that on a given
train there would be a few murderers and rapists, as well as at least
a dozen thieves. So travelling on a
train with this mindset posed its own difficulties. Each carriage was inspected with care. Four guys in a carriage was just asking for
trouble. Two women of stocky build could
overcome me, so their carriage was risky and
should be left as well. I usually
ended up in a compartment with a tiny elderly weak lady as I would tell myself even
if she were a killer, given my size and their age, I could probably take her
down. Deciding on which carriage to
travel in was a major part of the first half hour of travel and I did not rush
into it.
All of this is plain weird, I know,
and will seem even stranger when I tell you that I studied martial arts for
years and even attended self defence classes too. For a whole year I attended a full contact
dojo on the Isle of Wight and ended up each week covered in bruises and bumps
from being kicked and punched. I can
tell you there was a world of difference between someone punching at you but
stopping at the skin and another kicking you from the front as if he wanted to
dislocate your spine. I learned many
things, that bigger people kick you harder, thin lean men can be incredibly
strong, being kicked is much worse than being punched and why women are so
often badly hurt in attacks. Our trainer
told us that women are usually in placating mode when they are attacked. They hope that by doing so their attacker
will stop hurting them. This, they
continue to do even when the attacker continues to hurt them badly. He was full of instructions about poking out
eyeballs and other gruesome
techniques.
I didn’t like any of it and
decided on my own approach – that was pre attack preparation. My carriage checking was a way of avoiding
any conflict, and I felt that it made sense to put the odds in your
favour. Another pre attack policy was
never to look as if you don’t know where you are going. Vulnerability is sensed by the predator. For years I was amazed that the world changed
when I went on walks with my sister in law.
She is terrified by dogs and on spotting one almost half a mile away
would begin to dance nervously behind me arms shaking, crying her
distress. It was like an irresistible
invitation for any dog in the vicinity and I was constantly amazed how dogs
would come from everywhere zoning in on her distress signals. So too, in strange cities wandering around
with maps and looking lost brings upon you all sorts of weirdoes. Instead, I developed the practice of walking
purposefully, as if you know where you are going even when you are lost. Indeed, there are several major cities where
I have found myself wandering lost in areas that I can remember vaguely being
lost before in!
I remember years ago going across
France and my cousin decided hitch hiking was the way to speed things up,
against my heated arguments. A tiny
French car stopped with a huge fat French man squeezed in behind the front steering
wheel and his seat. His stomach made a
huge indent to allow for the steering wheel to fit. His hair was positioned carefully over a bald
head and kept in place by a liberal supply of sweat glistening everywhere. We had gone only a mile or so before he
pulled into a lay-by and started kissing my cousin on the mouth despite her
protests. I thought about hitting him on
the back of the head with a swift chop, from the back seat, and then worried
that he might stop kissing her and pull a knife or a gun. So I opened the back door and threw both our
rucksacks out onto the road instead. My cousin
extracted herself out the front door and the French fat guy took off at full
speed. We stood there, on an empty dusty
road, my cousin spitting furiously on the road to clear all taste of his
assault, both of us traumatised by what had happened. Mind you to put things in perspective, I might
not have unleashed a well trained karate chop on his neck (despite years of
training) but my pre attack preparation served me well. Why do you think my cousin ended up in the
front seat and not me?
Having past the half century age I no longer
worry so much about train carriages and weirdoes. Now, I concentrate on not putting my clothes
on inside out and find I have become the possibly weirdest person I am ever likely to
meet. I certainly would not choose to
share a train carriage or car with someone like me and that is strangely comforting in
a sad odd way.
