Wandering hands

It's hard to decide whether its accidental or purposeful brushing or touching, when crammed together on the tube swaying from the motion of the train on its forward trajectory. I became aware of a light touch in the groin area and saw a mans large hand with the knuckles leaning against me, so I moved away slightly. My stop came. I got off walking with the throng of crowd towards the escalator, stepped on, suddenly aware of a body close behind me. Tall. Sort of looming. But escalators are crowded in rush hour and people do step up right behind you in these busy times. And then the brush of something lightly against my buttock. Could be accidental. Could be. Just not at all sure that it was. A cursory backward glance revealed the same man with the knuckles. And then I stepped off at the top and walked away. 

Hastings

Being by the sea is a lovely thing - mesmerising and in persistent motion with light sparkling off it in ways that delight the brain and brighten the atmosphere. 

And then there are the things that we don't see everyday - the mangled ironwork of the burned-down pier rising out if the sea, massive baby seagulls sitting on car roofs in the car park, fishing boats beached on the shingle having been dragged out if the water, double story beach huts for drying fishing nets, man frying white fish freshly caught and tucking it into fresh buns. 

Public Transport

The trouble with public transport (and I'm not going to moan about late, crowded and cancelled because while its par for the course we are actually pretty lucky in London with tubes every couple of minutes and our iconic red buses) is the presence of occasionally over-hot and large other passengers. A man sat next to me on the bus. He sat right next to me. His thigh touched the full length of mine and he was wearing a scratchy woollen sleeveless cardigan that itched my bare arms (26 degrees today - really no need for a jacket). As we rode along I gradually became aware of his temperature. Not sure whether it was rising or just seeping through his jeans. He was very tall and broad. I started to feel quite enclosed. And very hot. It was only when he got up and left that I realised that I was feeling his sweat through my skirt. Sadly I didn't have enough time to cool down because a woman took his seat almost straight away. Nowhere near his bulk but her upper thigh is against mine. And I can feel the heat heating up again...