Paralyzed sardines on Nothing Hill Gate.

People in the underground are like ants. Following the same routes one by one, in well organised processions, carrying their indispensable briefcases to built, what, new world? New order? Though from the newspapers they leave on the tube everyday one could build a replique of the whole of London made of paper mache. Or shelters for the homeless standing on every, ok, not every second, but perhaps every 5th corner, selling the Big Issue. No homeless dogs here, no animals other than pets, probably having their own rooms and wearing personally designed jewellery (you no longer call it a collar). I recalled the words I have already heard too many times, it’s must be so great to live in London, try to recall it, believe me you will with no difficulty packed like sardines in a tube at 6.37 on the central line zone 1,
stuck in between an Indian sleeping on the middle pole (yeah neither north nor the south :P ) and a blonde on high heels chewing gum on volume level 9/10, ten being the decibel limit to hurt your ears. Better than a Polish bus perhaps, where old ladies (well, calling them ladies is a big misinterpretation of their status and class of behaviour) coated in fur armour and always carrying a set of re-used plastic bags full of mysterious contents. I think they all conspire to build a nuclear reactor and blow up the city - centre of moral depravity and easy virtue.

And in all that you are pressed against the doors, forming a nice modern, bloby-like pattern of your nose and mouth outstretched right on the glass. That’s what the notices in the tube describe as obstructing the doors I’d say. Stand clear of the doors and when they open, you are just pushed out by the crowd of the tube-ants suddenly making a ‘towards the doors’ move. Obviously, British politeness and sensibility ends confronted with the necessity of sticking to the place in the carriage, so no one, even those standing right in the middle, will not move. Suddenly the plan of the line, which they know by heart after travelling with it back and forth everyday for the past 5 boring years, gained in interest, or they are taking part in a live sculpture artistic project, or playing one of this child-games: who moves first is a dumbbell. No, no, the TRUTH is they are educating themselves about the last-night’s of Robbie Williams and the visit of the weather presenter of BBC1 in Sainsbury local instead of Marks&Spencer Food. It goes without saying they can not be disturbed in this utterly brain-consuming, and though enhancing activity. It would influence the deepness if their family dinner discussion, we can’t allow that.