Critical Mass.

I'm currently working in London for the next few weeks. That in itself is enough to make a man go loopy-loo and start shouting at people in a bubbly froth of incoherent rage. In fact that is exactly what I have witnessed on a number of occasions in the past few days courtesy of street dwelling drinkers with a penchant for White Stripe cider, Tennants Extra and even a very fetching bottle of Lambrini.

I sympathise, it's a wonder that in a city full of people, all kinds of people, that riots and small scale local civil war doesn't break out on a regular basis. Baseball capped youths mix cautiously with flat capped senior citizens. Every colour of skin walk side by side, Jews, Muslims and Christians sit in Cafes with the Buddhists, Sikhs, and Secular. The moneyed few walk alongside the destitute on the same streets and the languages that fill the air tell of faraway lands.

This is just an observation as I sit here, taking in the lunchtime cafe culture of West London, that I am a tolerant, amiable and approachable chap with few hang ups about who I mix with. But if the bloke next to me hoiks up another gobful of phlegm and picks his nose one more time, I'm gonna go ballistic and force feed him breadsticks via his nose with a double dose of a kick in the bollocks.

One day, I'm going to really hurt someone...

Paul Martin is @ukcameraman on Twitter