Stories

The London Underground 

I read somewhere that the Underground is a "transport playground".  The closest I came to this was imagining I would meet Daniel Craig on the Embankment. He might jump out of a secret passageway built in the 1800s wearing just his speedo's and a smile.  Alas, those dreams didn't last for long.

I've had some weird experiences on the tube: one might even describe them as "out of this world" but not in a good way and very off-putting.  You need to select the carriage carefully, especially if travelling off-peak.  There are usually four carriages to every train.  I have to fight with myself which carriage to select every time.  Unfortunately, each time I have selected a carriage it has been the wrong choice. 

Choosing carriage one I name "dictators." The floors are all sticky and the seats are all damp.  It is always full of suits, politics and papers.  Most are commuters and descendants of Winston Churchill.  I usually avoid this carriage as I don't want to get caught up in a political debate when I'm 60 feet underground trapped in a hot, damp smelly vessel - a moister mini version of the House of Commons. It would be about as pleasant as having to take a swab from Boris Johnson.  

The last time I selected carriage two, I couldn't believe my ears.  I was on the tube from Charing Cross to Oxford Circus and a woman sat in front of me wearing an expensive dress and enough jewellery to open a pawn shop.  Finishing her conversation on her mobile, she looked disgusted and she dropped her phone into her Louis Vuitton handbag as if it was coated in the virus, covid19.  She announced to the lady sitting next to her in a very loud voice, "Every time he sees his ex-girlfriend there is trouble...  She is like a cloud covering the sun.  Last month she only went and hit him right on the head where he had the operation.  As if that wasn't bad enough, as he can't have sex, she has got him Viagra and it has made him have a fit." Taking a deep breath in and with a shrill voice says, "I'M SICK OF HER!" The high-pitched sound transported me back to my grandmother's kitchen where it would mean the kettle could take it no longer on the stove.  What I would give for a cup of tea!  That carriage is not for me.

Choosing carriage three, I took my life in my hands.  All the adults were wide-eyed and restless as their kids were licking the windows.  Exasperated, I rolled my eyes up to the ceiling.  A child stared calmly back down at me.  I panicked, nervously glancing around myself, hoping to see normality.  Gecko-like, the remaining children had climbed and were clinging to the walls of the carriage. One child with a devilish glint in his eye had cruelly dropped something on a Granny who had fallen asleep whilst knitting.  As the train came out of the tunnel.  Something glistened menacingly dangerously close to her mouth, which was lolling open, as she contentedly snored.  I threw a scrunched-up ball of newspaper at it, its tongue shot out and gulped down the offending missile in the blink of an eye.  It scurried away, the carriage resounding with maniacal laughter.

Choosing carriage four, I name "manspreaders".  There I was, apportioned a measly one-eighth of a seat.  I was sat beside a man who had mercilessly stretched open his legs to a degree which defied the rules of maths, physics and biology.  Indeed, Pythagoras himself would have been at a loss to describe that unearthly angle.  There he exposed me to a callous initiation ceremony of a series of his farts dealt out with malicious machine-gun like rapidity and regularity. I'd like to say they became more benign over time but alas, they only increased in vileness and ferocity.  Occasionally, he let out a frustrated yawn and I was appalled to find that the stench emanating from the top exit had the edge over that coming from the bottom hatch so to speak. I retreated into my seat which took up one-sixteenth of the seat I had paid for.

There really does need a government health warning on the tube. So, next time, don't tell me to mind the gap; I want my bloody money back!