When a man was vomiting on my shoe, I didn’t know how to help. Time to sign up for a first-aid course
I’m lucky with public transport: I get the best of it. First, because I live in London, which is arguably, disgracefully, the only place in Britain where it is any good. Second, I don’t have to use it much in the rush hour, which is rarely fun wherever you are. On public transport, stuff happens. If you’re in a cab – fascinating though conversations with the drivers can be – or driving yourself, not so much does.
At 11.30 last Friday night, after a few drinks and a meal for a friend’s 40th, I was on the Piccadilly line home. The seats were all taken, so I stood by the door and stared at my phone for a bit. At the next stop, a bloke got on, I’d say in his late 30s, and stood next to me. He beheld me with glazed eyes and then, very slowly, collapsed. I recalled a bit of sports punditry about a boxer hitting the canvas having taken a big punch. He was described as having “gone down in instalments”. That’s what this guy did.
Continue reading...from The Guardian http://bit.ly/2XYv99m
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