Yesterday, during the morning dodge of scurrying pedestrians by Borough Market, one chap, hood up, purposefully marched out into the road at the crossing (not on green). Generally, you have a good head of steam at this point if you want to avoid a taxi enema, but I managed to avoid him. Not so the woman behind who whacked straight into him and came off.
He started ranting and raving in unspecified foreign and getting quite aggressive and quite clearly had swapped his morning cornflakes for unprescribed pharmaceuticals (it's often unclear whether they're on too little prescribed or too much unprescribed medication). I figured I'd put myself and bike between him and the women as she picked herself up so I could explain to him the many benefits of his leaving (which I doubt crossed the language barrier, but I figured would keep him distracted). He was repeatedly thrusting his hands deep in his parka pockets in a way that got a bit troubling, given the peculiarly stabhappy attraction of the London Bridge area. Fortunately by this point, a few other of the many hundreds of passing people had stopped and the woman had righted herself.
As I'm quite cowardly, I'd prefer less excitement on my first commute of the year. She was fine other than a wobbly wheel, some bruises, and a gust of unwanted adrenalin.