The public has every right to fear homicidal nutters

There was a loony on my train the other day. He sat quietly for most of the journey, but when we pulled into a station he began barking like a dog; that’s how I knew he was a loony, the barking bit, not the sitting quietly bit. Every station, his head went back and he began to bark and yowl and you could see little flecks of foam, agitated saliva, at the corners of his mouth. Then, when the train left the station he went back to reading the Daily Mirror in silence, although he would snuffle from time to time. His fellow passengers treated him with wary tolerance, glancing over from time to time but careful not to catch his eye. I smiled at him once, in an uplifting and encouraging manner, but he looked uncomprehendingly beyond me. He had his legs slightly protruding into the gangway and at one station, as he barked away, a man trying to — what is the word these officious attendants use? — detrain, stood several feet back from him and loudly requested he withdraw his limbs, as they were obstructive.