“I’m going to kill her, absolutely kill her”

BRIXTON HILL, London. And there’s a man with an enormous bunch of dreadlocks fidgeting on the side of the road ahead.

He’s shouting indecipherably and in despair at someone in his world. In my world he’s shouting straight at the top of the no. 59 bus stop. Suddenly, he karate-kicks his foot up above his head several times in rapid succession.

I scuttle past this unnerving psychotic endeavour with my daughter, eyes to pavement.