A Graphic Train Of Thought

I’m notorious for not really thinking before I speak. Some people like it because they can count on me telling the truth, but others hate the fact that I say inappropriate things sometimes.

This is pertinent when I’m on a national rail service train. I have just spent three hours with my dad in an Urgent Care drop-in centre because a relatively recent piercing I got became infected. My mum isn’t with us as she stayed in London while we went to Nottingham.

She calls me on the train to check how I am after my dad texted her before we were seen by a nurse. I tell her the whole story.

As I’m telling it, I start to notice people around me looking uncomfortable, and one man puts his food away. I realise that I’ve just described, in graphic detail, how there had been clear fluid and blood leaking from my ear, as well as how, when I took the piercing out, I lost my grip on the front of the earring and pulled the 3-mm ball through my piercing, making it bleed all the more. I quickly change tack to a more vanilla version of events.

To all the poor people who shared that train with me, I’m deeply sorry for subjecting you to that and putting you off your food. On the plus side, I caught the infection before it got really bad, so there’ll be no even worse stories for me to horrify strangers with.