In all my years of travelling on Dublin Bus, yesterday was the first time I noted a unicycle in the luggage rack.
Yes, a unicycle.
I surveyed my fellow passengers, trying to work out which of them was the owner of this wonderful vehicle.
I settled on the chap with the long, unkempt hair who had the look of an overgrown adolescent returning from a festival in some muddy field.
My mother would regard anyone with such an appearance as a drop-out. But for all I know, he was returning from a weekend of circus work to reclaim his 9 to 5 capitalist place as a cog in some wheel this Monday morning.
In any case, the nonchalance with which he picked up his unicycle and stepped off the bus, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, made me smile.
There and then I decided that in the future, after transplant, I will always carry around some interesting item with me each day.
A musical instrument, or a set of juggling clubs, or a lacrosse stick.
And I shall wear a flower in my lapel, or a flower in my hair.
Life will be much more colourful then.