The one thing that binds us londoners...a rat race of anonymity trained to instinctively apply a firmer grip to the handbag/manbag/briefcase/child, at the mere glance of somebody who isn't a close relative or a reflection...is our disdain for the curse that is public transport.
Too hot..too cold...unpleasantly warm...the tube is like a youngest sibling: something that can and should be used everyday however you would very much like it to no longer be in existence on account of its persistent irritation and wavering reliability.
The thought process that sped through the mind of the genius that created the infamous tube is one that clearly must have involved some kind of amphetamine. Picture it now...I'll set the scene:
Caucasian male, 6ft, stood in a field listening to deep house and tripping off acid: "mate...,what if we all just became one?...Like, all conjoined in a metal transportation system, powered solely by body heat and numbers? Worming our way through an interconnected web of tunnels built 10's of metre's below the ground?..That would be sick!"
Call me pessimistic or what have it, but if any self respecting member of the public pitched this idea to Deborah Meaden and Duncan Bannatyne..they would be carted off in a straight jacket and a nappy.
Yes, it's a land mark, a statement representative of the great city that is London. Something that tourists carrying all the gear and no idea can take pictures of whilst generically/excitedly waving the peace sign at their moment capturing lenses.
To us...pure irritation.
Have you ever watched the lips of platform inhabitants whenever they discover "THE VICTORIA & PICCADILLY & HAMMERSMITH AND CITY & DISTRICT LINE" are experiencing severe delays?
Deaf people much experience such offence during these annoyingly frequent moments as every single passer by's lip syncing is as obvious as that of an ITV broadcast footie match featuring Wayne Rooney and a particularly strict referee.
"For fucks sake" "Oh fuck off" "Are you fucking serious"- all of which followed by a speedy reach for the iPhone to inform the wife/girlfriend/boss/mistress of the inconvenience that has occurred...honestly...next time this happens aka, your next journey, observe...its hilarious.
Then there is the issue of the public...the public ruin public transport. I mean it's bad enough in the morning when your wedged in with a collection of people who see fully fledged yawning without the accompaniment of a courteous covering of the mouth as completely acceptable. Or when you find yourself acting as some kind of cushion for the gut sporting business man to your right who's dandruff shrouded, balding head is lolling on your shoulder during his 7 am saliva clad snooze. Throw a 26 degree (minimum) summer in there and an armpit in your face and you feel like your on the midnight train to Auschwitz.
Then there's the guy next to you blasting out the latest nonsense from the 'Bomfunk Mc's" and the knob head to the right who has just fallen victim to the unexpected follow up sneeze. You know, the one that proceeds the initial tidy little polite squeak that came to surface as a result of a miscellaneous bit of dust. You know, the mucus ridden mess that leaves the culprit shamefully stood in centre stage of the sweaty amphitheatre that is the 07.35 northern line train to Morden.
You're stood watching as the cogs turn, calculating the next move then you watch as 'Mr Sneazy' subtly/so fucking blatantly rubs the sticky aftermath on his left trouser leg and proceeds to clutch the same railing you are firmly grasping.
That my friends...sums up the ramblings of an irritated Londoner re: The Tube.
God speed you bastards! xx
