What could be so dangerous in the Swiss Cottage area that it necessitates the attention of an Austrian huntsman with full hunting kit and excessive body odour?

On Saturday night, I was on a bus on my way to meet some friends in the West End. I looked around and spotted a man, dressed like an oversized Boy Scout, with a bag on his back his back that looked heavy enough to be concealing a celebrity curled up into a ball trying to avoid photographers. He was also carrying another bag with a couple of huge poles sticking out of it.

The "space designated for wheelchair user" on a bus also serves as standing room, and for a while I found myself sitting there with his oversized duffle bag in my face, praying that the driver wouldn't brake sharply, as the bag looked quite weighty, and I was fairly confident that one hit with that would have most, if not all, of my facial bones broken. I was quite frightened.

I then became afraid of slightly more than just the weightyness of his equipment when a woman tried to alight the bus, and he just randomly chose at that moment that he'd had enough of standing and physically ploughed her out of the way shouting with an Arnold Schwarzenegger voice "Excuse me, I'm trying to sit down!"

After he had moved seats several times, a woman boarded and said to him "That looks like quite an expedition..."

"It is necessary. I am a huntsman from Austria" he responded sounding as mechanical as The Terminator

By this point I was really feeling quite nervous and wishing he wasn't sitting behind me. Why is it necessary? What needs hunting in Swiss Cottage? Is there a deadly Werewolf terrorising North London that has somehow evaded the press? Or has there been a big public story about how they've had to seek the help of Austrian huntsmen to control wild animals plaguing North London, and I've just missed it in my lethargic avoidance of news?

"Really, wow, that's interesting. So, what do you hunt?" the lady continued

"Wild goats. Mostly" said The Scoutinator in a tone so sinister it actually made me shiver as I wondered what he meant by "mostly." Especially as I'm unaware of a wild goat problem inside the M25.

They then proceed to have a conversation about the origins of language, but every now and then he'd say something that sounded like it came straight of a horror movie. I was quite glad to get off the bus and away from the scary person armed with murdering equipment.

It would appear I was travelling on the Oddity Express. Aside from my own bizarre mental and physical features, and The Scoutinator, there was also an elderly bearded gentleman, in full waterproof clothing sitting near me with a hairy nose. By this I don't mean he had unkempt hair protruding from his nostrils, I mean he actually had hair growing on his nose. I've seen countless men and women with hirsutism of varying severity... but I have never, ever seen anyone with a hairy nose before. I would've loved to of seen the palms of his hands.

Don't werewolves grow hair in strange places? Huh...