Against the freedom of the press

Disappointed that the capital's freesheets don’t have columns for very annoyed people. Michael Hodges provides a forum for the city's pissed off

I think we can all agree that one of the best things about living in the capital is our access to the thousands upon thousands of free newspapers that, once they have been read by eager Londoners, do so much to lend an air of gaiety and decoration to our streets, buses and trains.

Apart from the inspired food and drink coverage – ‘Now where have I read another review of that restaurant recently?’ comes an enquiring voice from the Food & Drink desk immediately to my left (if you’re going to sit anywhere in an office, next to the Food & Drink desk is the place), as my colleague leafs through a freesheet – one of the best services these papers offer London is the columns that allow the lovelorn, the lost and the sexually curious to write in and try to recapture the moment of fleeting pleasure they experienced with a stranger on our city’s streets.

This is clearly a useful device for the likes of ‘the rock chick with nice-smelling hair’ who wishes, understandably, to hook up again with ‘the Inspector Gadget look-alike at Motion on Saturday night’, but I fear it misses something important about successfully living in a city where the dominant personality trait is loathing rather than loving.

So, since the freesheets don’t have columns for very annoyed people, Slice of Life has decided to take on the responsibility and provide its own space for the pissed off, infuriated or simply disgusted. Welcome, then, to the Angry London messaging service. But before we start, our lawyers would like us like us to point out that we are not responsible for the opinions voiced in this correspondence. That said, some of them could be mine.

Agitated down-and-out in a wheelchair in Lewisham. You swore at me and smelled of piss. I nudged your chair into the road. Want to try again?
Man who checks his mobile as he exits the top of Leicester Square station steps and makes everyone coming up behind him crash into each other. I would love to chat.

Amnesty International charity muggers on Tottenham Court Road. I threw coffee on you from the office window. Still after ‘just five minutes’?
Barman in Mayfair who ignored me even though I was at the bar before anyone else. I will never forget, I will never forgive .

Man that sold me the tainted hot dog at Latitude. You owe me big time – to be precise, the 37 minutes I spent in a toilet cubicle watching Crocs go by under the door while passing phlegm from where phlegm doesn’t belong.

Youth who rode his cycle into me while I was wandering through Covent Garden. I am very sorry; I know I shouldn’t have been walking on the pavement.

Woman who opened her umbrella into my eye outside Boots in Putney. It’s all right; knowing you live in Putney is punishment enough.

Man dropping sucked-dry chicken bones on street outside Peckham Bertie Roosters. Interesting. Is this an experiment?

Bus driver in central London. You tried to kill everyone on the bus by driving very quickly and stopping suddenly. I think you are very clever.

Man with trousers round his ankles aiming his penis at a wall in Camden. Are you suffering from a condition or do you want to get jiggy?

Fattish fella with blond hair and round glass office near Tower Bridge. Do you know what you are doing?

Sigur Rós. Just stop. Now. Please.

Elbow – likewise, gents, immediately.

Magazine columnist. You were asleep on the 176 bus. I wiped dribble from your shirt. Let’s get together, I’ll bring tissues.

That’s enough for this week, but I’m sure there’s more to come. And, as they say in the freesheets, if you are any of these people, let us know!

And remember, we may cost money but we don’t litter the streets and, if you’re angry, we’re here for you.

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