Anyone who’s spent more than five minutes in London at any point in their life will probably have encountered the Underground, the capital’s ever-expanding subway. It’s ‘the Tube’ to many, ‘the bloody stupid useless frigging Tube, ugh’ to others, and the inescapable labyrinth of nightmares to far more.
I moved to London two years ago, and on the whole I rather like the public transport network here. Coming from a town where one bus would lethargically amble to the stop every half hour and collapse in a wheeze of exhaust fumes made me instantly appreciate the Tube’s relative convenience. Unfortunately, I’ve also been to Tokyo, Japan, where trains, subway cars and buses are timed to arrive mere seconds apart like mass transit ninjas. Compared to that, an eight-minute wait for the next Central line train is nothing short of an outrage.
It’s also been hard adapting to the crowds and the morning rush. Being a short person on the Tube has few advantages. If you’ve ever felt the keen breeze of someone strategically coughing into your hair, you’ll understand. I’ve been wedged into corners and backed into by backpacks; faced waggling crotches with a stoic poker face and made the acquaintance of at least 50 armpits – 47 of which could have benefited from a tad more deodorant.
There’s also not as many poles and handles to hold on to when you’re lower to the ground. Many are the journeys I’ve spent awkwardly stumbling back and forth in the middle of the carriage because I can’t reach the top rail. Well, technically I could… if I wanted to swing my way to Waterloo like some kind of urban chimpanzee. And then you have to somehow get off the train as well! “Mind the gap” isn’t so much a friendly caution as a mantra for life.
There are some joys to be had, mind. The suppressed giggles that ripple down the carriage whenever there are station announcements for Cockfosters. Catching a glimpse of dodgy fanfiction over someone else’s shoulder (don’t think I haven’t seen you! It’s 7am! Put your damn Kindle away!). The glee of watching someone with headphones inserted tightly enough to create a vacuum suddenly look bewildered as we trundle past their stop.
Commuting has sadly desensitised me to the worst of the Tube – when you blow your nose and it comes out pitch black every time, not much else is going to faze you, really. But the little flashes of entertainment are usually worth it. That’s not something any tourist who’s just paid £4.50 in cash for the 30-second ride between Leicester Square and Covent Garden would ever say.
