Sitting on the train on my way home last Friday night, I was almost lulled into slumber by the screeching metal tracks, when I realised I had been staring at a message on the cold, plastic blue seat opposite, beautifully written in italics - or ‘running writing’ as they used to call it (do they still call it that in primary schools today?).

It was a message that gave me hope that despite the bleakness, the greyness, the murders, the drugs, the rising interest rates, the racism, the bigotry, the falling apart of society, the Blairites, that there is still a beacon of hope and lightness on this forsaken planet. The message said:

Peace, love, acceptance

That’s all that matters.

How true, I thought, suddenly startled out of my alcohol-soaked misery. How damn true - and we all should be aiming for those goals: love, peace, acceptance. I sat up straight and promised no one in particular that these are the goals I am going to apply to my life immediately.

Then my eyes glanced to another familiar bit of running writing, and I was eager to read what other inspiration I could learn from a train seat with the slash in it. What I read changed my life forever:

Fuck the South Side.