Arab or Zygon?

Coming home from work last night was slightly surreal.

It started off well. On boarding the tube at Whitechapel I spotted a rather splendid little fellow sitting further up the carriage. I'm very into short, dark haired guys right now and he certainly fitted the bill. Vaguely Arabian or Lebanese looking with a lovely dark beard. So I moved to sit opposite. I know, blatant aren't I? He smiled at me and then looked out the window, which I thought was odd as there's not much to see in a tunnel, until I realised he was appraising me via my reflection. I pretended to be too engrossed in my newspaper to notice, although the more observant passengers would have wondered why I was concentrating so much on this season's must-have handbags. Apparently oversized is in, just so you know.

We both disembarked at the same stop and I followed him up the escalator, his ass directly in front of my face, a fact not lost on him judging by the amount of times he clenched his buttocks.

At the ticket barrier he went through. I didn't. Fucking shitty fucking Oyster card wouldn't work. I tried a different gate. Still nothing. Meanwhile, the Arab looked back at me then walked out of the station. Dammit. I finally got through and sauntered out, turning towards home (the opposite direction to the Arab had taken), at which point my phone started to ring. The Boyf was at the other end and he was whispering.

The Boyf: "Where are you?"

OMO: "I'm just coming out the Tube. Why are you whispering?"

The Boyf: "You'll find out in a minute. Just come in normally but try to be quiet"

OMO: "What the...?"

(click)

I turned around to look in the direction the Arab had taken and was very surprised to find him standing 20 feet away, leaning on some railings and staring at me. I smiled, pointed at my phone and made a shrugging motion, then turned and headed in the direction of home. I looked back once, we smiled at each other then he turned and walked away.

On opening my front door I was confronted by The Boyf, holding his finger to his lips. He waved me to follow him into our spare room. I could hear talking in our main room. Our spare room was unusually tidy. The other thing of note was a man I'd never met before, drinking red wine. We were introduced, and it transpired that he is the editor of Dr Who Magazine. The Boyf was positively trembling with excitement.

OMO: "So, what's going on?"

The Boyf: "There's a film crew in our living room. Well, two men and a camera anyway. We've been filming a documentary about Dr Who. They've interviewed Clay and me and now some other guy's being filmed. How cool is that?"

OMO: "A film crew? Damn, I could have bought the Arab back from the station and made a whole different kind of film"

The Boyf: "What Arab?"

OMO: "Oh, never mind"

So there you go. The Boyf is now in a documentary, although apparently it could be a couple of years to get more funding and finish it off. Gives me plenty of time to decide on my red carpet outfit, and of course what I'll be wearing to the Oscars that year. I'm thinking of staying with the Dr Who theme and going as a Cyberman. Either that or this, by Jean Paul Gaultier. Same difference really. Oh, the decisions...