Blonde's Eye View: A Valentine's card for Bob Crow
COMMENTby Angela Clarke
I'm going to send a Valentine's card to Bob Crow, the general secretary of the National Union of Rail, Maritime and Transport workers and the man we all recognise as the fat-controller of the Tube strikes.
Poor Bob, his egg-shaped face set permanently in the grimace of a bulldog chewing a lemon soaked wasp. How lonely he must be.
Did he hear the thousands of voices cursing him as they waited in "lethally overcrowded" stations, or from those reapplying blister plasters to their raw feet during the strikes?
Did he feel the sharp intake of breath when the London Chamber of Commerce and Industry estimated the likely cost to the city was more than £50million a day?
Bob must feel the weight of the world upon his shoulders, as if 50 million pound coins are piled upon him. I bet he has a bad back, and trouble sleeping, and probably a nasty little rash from stress.
I imagine him alone at night, bent over a too-generous glass of scotch, trying to block out the pain.
Poor bullied Bob. No one wants to come and play with his model train set. He knows when they say they can't travel to his house because of the Tube strike it's just an excuse.
If anyone cared they would pull on their Nikes and walk for three hours, goddammit. He can't pop online to look at inspirational quotes on Facebook, or Buzzfeed quizzes about which Tube Station he is (Cockfosters) because the Internet hates him. Nobody loves him. Poor Bob Crow.
I will send you a Valentine's card. Then you can feel affection, warmth, compassion, and you might stop lashing out at innocent commuters. Especially if I sign it: "From Boris, with all my love xxx."
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