Tales

A bounty on the Bakerloo

Many years ago, when I was in my mid-teens, I was on the Bakerloo line. The carriage wasn’t busy, just a guy sat across from me who I wasn’t paying any attention to.

You see, I was quite preoccupied with the thought of buying a bag of chips on the way home. A proper bag of chips from a proper chippy.

Then, a few stops from my destination, the man stood up, and where he was sat lay £1.40. A pound coin and two 20p’s. The precise amount I needed for a large bag of chips.

I looked at the £1.40. The £1.40 looked at me. The doors closed, and after a few moments’ pause, I reached over to collect the potato bounty.

A test of my moral compass. An ethical scandal. A moral quandary. All of which I had failed.

In my defence, I hadn’t really clocked the coins until he was just stepping off the tube so it would have been quite the effort* for me to reunite the currency with its official owner… but I think if we’re all being honest with each other, that money was destined, for me, to spend on chips.

And that I did.

* in those days, the Bakerloo line doors often opened while still moving, and only for a few seconds.

Tales from the tube strike

Witnessed: excellent trolling by the busker under Blackfriars Bridge, playing an especially dreary version of Radiohead's Karma Police, as London's crestfallen commuters trudged through the rain-soaked misery of 2017's first tube strike.

A drunkard tries to get home

The drunkard is me.

I’m about 20. It’s very late, I’m unquestionably drunk and I categorically cannot afford a cab. This is 10 years ago when uber was a word you used instead of ‘very’ or ‘bloody'. The summer is in full swing.

I get on the Bakerloo line and like a total amateur I fall asleep.

Before you know it I’m arising from my slumber at Harrow and Wealdstone, ZONE SIX. The end of the line.

I stumble out of the carriage and down the platform. I’m somewhat preoccupied with how I’m going to get home from this foreign horizon now the tubes have stopped running, but it’s okay - the balmy evening means that even in my t-shirt I’ll be okay if I have to walk.

The station is roomy to say the least. I wander around aimlessly before realising two things:

  1. The tubes haven’t stopped running and I can just go back the way I came.
  2. I WAS WEARING A COOPER TEMPLE CLAUSE HOODIE AND WHERE THE HELL DID THAT GO.

For those of you not familiar with The Cooper Temple Clause, they were (and probably still are) my favourite band ever. They are awesome and so IS THAT GOD DAMN HOODIE.

I head back to the platform where I alighted. The train I arrived on is still idling.

I venture towards the carriage I think I was on, which now contains but one person.

He is a suspiciously delighted Indian man. I deduce the origins of his delight from his ace new red hoodie even though I HAVE NOT SEEN HIM AT ANY COOPER TEMPLE CLAUSE GIGS.

I approach the fellow and confidently reach for my hoodie which is currently lying part under his bag and slightly under him. There is literally no way he can lay claim to my GOD DAMN TCTC HOODIE and I’m not going to give it up easily.

As I bend down, reaching for my beloved garment, I maintain eye contact waiting to see if he says something. I am polite but wearing a slightly awkward smile that says, “sorry this is my hoodie." Bizarrely he maintains his delighted expression, only minutely regretful that he is no longer the owner of MY GOD DAMN TCTC HOODIE.

I relinquish it from him without a word uttered, both of us seemingly content with ourselves, and make my way to an alternative carriage.

I escape to zone 3 with all my particulars in tact. And that was that.

I still have that hoodie.

South West Trains and the signal from hell

I used to have the misfortune of relying on South West Trains to complete my daily commute. It was only supposed to be about 10 minutes out of a 50-minute trip, but it could easily add an extra 10-30 minutes through trains not running to schedule, followed by a stop-start journey to my destination (with no explanation as to the delay). I quickly concluded that the service they supply out of Waterloo is about as reliable as an Amish salesman in a shop that sells only sub-£30 printers.

Thankfully it is now a rarefied moment whence I must board this particular brand of train-based misery. One such moment occurred this week however, when I arrived at Waterloo to find a signal failure had struck just outside the station - meaning an entire ten platforms were at a standstill during the evening rush hour.

Now, this is not the first time that a signal failure outside of Waterloo has immediately halted all services in and out of the station...

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An artist falls on hard times

Unsurprisingly, I am on a tube, listening to some tunes through my earphones. It's an evening train and it's quite busy; there are no spare seats but not many are standing. I, thankfully, am part of the happy majority resting their derrieres on a seat.

Across from me is a man who clearly works in the arts. It's a dead giveaway as arty types of a certain age have a very distinct look - dishevelled, but unquestionably respectable. It's a look that says...

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The labyrinthine District line

It's about 10.30am, a weekday, the calm after the rush hour storm. I'm on the District line from Paddington, approaching Earl's Court and on my way to Wimbledon.

Earl's Court is tricky for the uninitiated as the District line goes in about 5 different directions.

At the stop before, a man gets on who's talking on his phone. Mid-late 20s. He's tall, slim and good-looking. Fair-haired. Flustered.

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How to use an Oyster card

I happened across an amusing interaction at Victoria on a sunny weekday morning in May. It was between a luggage-laden tourist and a member of tube staff. I was too far away to hear a word they uttered, yet I knew precisely what was happening.

At the entry/exit of the District line, the barriers are parallel. So as you come out, the entry ones are straight in front of you. It was here that I witnessed a cheery member of TFL staff fishing around inside the workings of one of the barriers, while the woman stood by, slightly embarrassed, with a couple of large suitcases. After a second or two he handed her an Oyster card, while miming the action of placing the card on to the reader...

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Magnificent

Spotted: a young woman, stood in the midst of a thronging rush hour crowd, casually examining a small fold-out tube map with a magnifying glass.

The difference between rush hour and off-peak tube travel

At Hammersmith station the Piccadilly and District lines run on adjacent platforms. It's a popular place for District-liners to swap onto the Piccadilly line, and what with the infrequency of our beleaguered green friend, people tend to be in quite the hurry when they dart the few metres across the platform.

The other day was no different. A cold November morning when both trains pulled into the platform at about the same time.

I noticed a rather well-to-do woman disembark the District line and march purposefully towards the Piccadilly line - her momentum carrying her ahead of all the people waiting to board. She's in her 50s I reckon, grey hair, slim, well dressed.

I have recently started travelling into central London during rush hour...

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The day I slapped a man in the face

I was very recently on a tube, if you can believe it.

My exact whereabouts escape me but it was perhaps the Victoria line at Green Park. I was changing for another line.

Anyway, so I'm on this train, right. It's about 7pm-ish and it's reasonably busy. Most of the seats are taken, a good few people are standing. I am one of the latter... 

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