I live on the south coast, in a town which is only eighty minutes from south London, if the trains are running on time, and nobody's committed suicide by throwing themselves onto the line. Only last week an immigrant decided to end his days by doing just that, and because the police had to come to inspect the scene of crime, and then had to pick his body parts up, the trains between the south coast and London were running a few hours late. The selfish bastard could have just taken an overdose and be done with it, but because he probably had a big chip on his shoulder, and he thought that England hadn't treated him in the way he had hoped, he chose to go out with all guns blazing, and fuck up the lives of a few thousand commuters.
Kevin - A Londoner. Extract taken from "The Londoners" - By Luke Ryman