Sunday, 3 November 2013

Tube musings

I am sat on the train amongst loads of French people. They appear to be laughing over an umbrella and saying things which involve rolling their 'rs' frequently. Not that I've got anything against French people of course (one of them keeps staring at me). It's just these lot seem fairly.. Enthusiastic about something as mundane as getting on the tube. We're currently somewhere between Bank and St Paul's (who even knew that was a place?!) and they're all hysterically laughing and pointing. There's one guy sitting next to them not saying anything, I'm trying to decide if he's their quiet friend or just an equally bemused tube rider.
I crack open my crisps and they look over, bewildered as to why I would do such a thing. Mentally, I am shrugging my shoulders at them. This diet is going well so far (ultimate sarcasm) as today I've had two chocolate digestives and now a packet of salt and vinegar crisps. I will continue to finish my crisps. I have pasta in my bag as well but I can't quite bring myself to crack open co op's finest pasta, complete with mini fork. A sort of one man picnic I suppose. 
The trouble is, if I don't eat my pasta now then when can I have it? This is an untimate first world problem and to my dismay I can't even eat it sitting on Oxford Street, judging by the drowned rat-esque fashion everyone seems to be sporting on the tube. I think the chance of gaining a seat is also akin to Topshop giving out trolley dash vouchers, ie not very likely.
(The quiet guy has now said something to the rest, I'm assuming he is actually one of their mates and not just fluent in French). 
A guy has now just come and sat next to me, despite there being a wide selection of seats available. I smile at him as if to say 'WHY DID YOU CHOOSE TO SIT NEXT TO ME THIS IS BRITAIN WE ARE AWARE OF EACH OTHER'S PERSONAL SPACE ISSUES'. I don't think he quite grasped the message behind my smile as he just smiled back. Hmm, next tactic?
The tube is gradually getting emptier despite our growing closeness to Oxford Street. I'm trying to subtly pinch pieces of chicken out of my pasta salad now. One of the French women just gave me a disapproving look but now I am too hungry to care. Nonchalantly, and with all the speed of a starving monkey, I cram a last piece of pasta in my mouth before closing my bag, putting my phone in my pocket and arriving at Oxford Circus tube station.

(Note, I'm not in actual fact on the tube anymore - I intended on posting this on Friday when I was actually on the tube but alas, Blogger has decided that it's more relevant 52 hours later).

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