London Underground Passengers

If you work in central London and have to suffer the task of the morning tube you will most likely have been affected by station closures and endless signal failures.

Working in London has many advantages. The vibrancy, the energy and the buzz that surrounds the city makes even the dullest of working days a tad more bearable. We need this lift, this energy, this excitement. We are the London Underground passengers.

It’s easy to spot those who walk into work – or even the health conscious ones who cycle – from those who have taken the tube. The walkers and cyclists happily stroll in, having enjoyed a burst of exercise or even a spot of sunshine. We tube folk exit the station in a stifling claustrophobic crowd, bleating in discomfort like a herd of sheep. We don’t happily stroll but spend our walk stretching out limbs that have been placed in yoga-like positions on a packed train.

I recently caught one chap shooting a cyclist a look of pure contempt. A look that said: ‘If a double decker bus came speeding round that corner, trampling your bike and leaving nothing more then a faintly dinging bell and the remains of a wicker basket I would applaud the driver’. Give the tube folk a strong coffee and the dark thoughts may soon lift.

We are the London Underground passengers. We never look at each other, speak to each other or even smile the faintest of smile to each other, and yet we sometimes spend our morning journey pressed closer to one another then we have many our sexual partners. It seems odd to ignore someone when your breathing causes their fringe to blow out of their eyes.

We are the London Underground passengers and we don’t make contact. We could join together and agree that our morning journeys are uncomfortable, stifling and claustrophobic. We could become a union of passengers, knowing that those on the outside will never understand our strife and band together to make our journey more bearable. But no. We are not a union. For that morning journey we are enemies and it’s everyone for themselves.

Our plight won’t end. Every morning and every evening spare a thought for the poor souls making their way down the steps, below the streets of London. We push, we rush, we complain but we never stop. Every morning and every evening we are the London Underground passengers. And we must be blummin’ insane.

Image courtesy of Paul McGhie