I now think of them as my halcyon commuting days. They took place during a period of about a year during which I took the 86 tram to work every day. It was during this time that I had the pleasure of encountering Pat Raw.

Pat was a kind of performance artist (although he would have been affronted to be described in such a way) who bellowed his opinions, his observations and sometimes just the flotsam that bobbed down the stream of his consciousness. And he did it so loudly and with such an engaging lack of self-awareness that it was impossible to ignore him.

He made old women literally squawk with the candour of his pronouncements and would, almost monthly, send the tram into uproar with some technicolour description of one of his bodily functions. During the tumult that followed, he would either plead plain-spokenness - "I just talk raw!" (hence the nickname) - or huffily assert that the outrage was nothing more than "political correctness gone mad", a banality he somehow managed to make his own.When he wasn't talking about "butt fouls" or his "flatus status", Pat was attempting to lead in-tram calisthenics classes, re-enacting famous scenes from 1980s movies (Risky Business was particularly memorable) and describing his heroism on the mid-week mixed netball court.

The Big Guy (as he often referred to himself) taught me many things. The most memorable was this: if you really want to get to work in a good mood, the people with whom you share the morning trip make all the difference. Discover your own Pat Raw and watch your work satisfaction soar.

Jonathan Rivett has chronicled Pat Raw stories at haught.com.au.