The very thought of the mission I'm about to undertake sends pangs of excitement and shudders of nervousness through me. I'm like James bloody Bond.
Tomorrow, I've decided, I'm going to get on the bus, go to the back row, and sit on the middle seat.
Yeah... The middle seat!
Actually, on reflection, I've realised that you may not understand the enormity of what I'm going to do. Having never been on the bus I get home from work, I can in fact see how this looks to you: that I'm simply getting on a bus and sitting on the middle seat of the back row.
Jesus, if only it was that simple!
Let me explain. Night after night I board the 11, flash my Megarider (that's a seven day ticket by the way, not a name for my cock), head for the back and sit wherever's free. The iPod goes on, I pull out whatever book I'm in the middle of, and kick back for the 40 minute ride home.
I generally try to ignore the other punters - mostly old women, working class folk and junkies - and keep myself to myself. Then one day my eyes were drawn to someone... Someone who had broken the rule of the bus.
He'd sat on the seat next to a stranger whilst neighbourless seats were still available!
I could scarcely believe it the first time, but every night the last week he's done this - boarding at the same stop, same time, then proceeding to sit in the middle seat of the back row - regardless of whether he has people to his left and right, as though it was Buckingham Palace and this was his throne!
No-one with whom he lumbers his company can quite believe it, looking at him with a mixture of surprise and disgust.
Matters aren't helped by the fact that, frankly, he looks like a bit of a rapist.
So tomorrow night, for no reason other than curiosity as to what the hell he's going to do about it, I'm going to get on before him and sit on his seat.
Updates tomorrow night.
PS - If tomorrow night's blog isn't forthcoming then I've probably been raped and don't feel like talking about it.