You are a man of extreme passion, a hungry man not quite sure where his appetite lies, a deeply frustrated man striving to project his individuality against a backdrop of rigid conformity. You exist in a half-world suspended between two super-structures, one self-expression and the other self-destruction. You are strong, but there is a flaw in your strength, and unless you learn to control it the flaw will prove stronger than your strength and defeat you. The flaw? Explosive emotional reaction out of all proportion to the occasion. Why? Why this unreasonable anger at the sight of others who are happy or content, this growing contempt for all people and the desire to hurt them? All right, you think they’re fools, you despise them because their morals, their happiness is the source of your frustration and resentment. But these are dreadful enemies you carry within yourself—in time destructive as bullets. Mercifully, a bullet kills its victim. This other bacteria, permitted to age, does not kill a man but leaves in its wake the hulk of a creature torn and twisted; there is still fire within its being but it is kept alive by casting upon it faggots of scorn and hate. He may successfully accumulate, but he does not accumulate success, for he is his own enemy and is kept from truly enjoying his achievements.

and what else was funny?

on the train Simon and I were going home. This lady came and sat right next to me, so much so that I felt her arm jiggle every time the train vibrated. She began to talk about the art gallery she has in Seddon, she was reeking of alcohol which possibly explains why she didn’t mind sitting so close or why she didn’t seem to be able to control her speech. It was exceptionally awkward because we really are the last people you want to approach as strangers, neither of us wanted to continue a conversation with her but we were about two stops from Newport and she seemed rather set on talking to us. So I very reluctantly asked what kind of art they sell, and that got her talking for most of the way. She did end on a high note, mentioning we were dressed very nicely and wondered if we were in a band. Almost jokingly said we were, but I’m glad I didn’t because that would have lead to her insisting on us playing at her gallery. Denying that we were at all musical, obviously the next explanation as to why we were dressed so eccentric would be that we are architects. Out of fear of being asked to run a workshop for architecture we denied that also, leading to the part of the conversation where a polite person would then reveal their actual study area. We are not polite people. We allowed her to babble on for the few minutes until we reached Newport.

The only explanation I can conclude is that she was simply some kind of drunkard, who thought it would be entertaining to pretend to have an art gallery. I have no doubts that she went to the Newport RSL to continue drinking after getting off the train.