On the 360 bus the currency is dogs. They bring people together, all kinds of people: nationalities, languages, classes, ethnicities, generations. An old woman with a poodle makes friends with a young Polish couple with back packs. A cockney women sporting a whole parchment-worth of tattoos is talking with a posh Chelsea mother about their love of whip-its. The whip-it sits there, uninterested. It is a great leveller, the dog. Heartening, in a way.
I, however, who am indifferent to dogs, turn away. You see, I do not accept this currency. The single currency does not attract me. The dog, with its bark, its yap, its nervosity, its ready tongue, its wet snout, its constant business: these qulities I can do without. In fact, I’m a kind of Brexiter.