Then The Harp Strings Started Breaking

The Metro reports on a survey to determine which tube line has the most attractive commuters. The Northern Line clinches it, with the Hammersmith & City line losing (the very line I take into work).

More than a third of people thought its combination of ’spiky-haired indie kids’ and ‘hot city types’ gave it the edge over other lines.

I wish I could have read that article this morning, then I could have given you a rundown on the attractiveness or otherwise of my fellow passengers. You see I rarely notice them usually occupying myself with music, books or just staring into space. I don’t do things like reading the Metro, with it’s curious blend of fluff, moral indignation and articles-that-don’t-match-the-headline-in-any-way. Although that has entertaining letters. By which I mean entertainingly stupid.

In fact one of the most horrifying things is if I travel without either book or music. Because everyone is very quiet the only sound is the little tinny beats from people’s earphones and if two people who know each other have a conversation it sounds very loud indeed, although not quite loud enough to promote tutting.

The other day a busker got on and provoked a considerable amount of embarrassment amongst my passengers with his flute. Since I was reading a book and listening to music I was able to totally ignore him. Hooray!

It’s so totally unlike taking the tube late a night, with lairy people galore, and people occasionally using cups as a makeshift toilet, you know that kind of thing.

When I lived in Twickenham, the late night trains were more civilised, or maybe I was just drunker because I regularly used to fall asleep and wake up at Hatton Cross, or even worse, Staines. Although once a group of people I was sitting near who worked for the FT got very excited when they discovered that one of our fellow passengers had won an award for the best restaurant in Staines, a privilege I can only dream of.

I once had the experience of a last train to Shoeburyness. That was interesting.

In either occasion sex is the last thing on my mind.

This bit of the article amused me, though:

For those who did pluck up the courage, among the worst chat-up lines was ‘I bet you’re getting off at Angel’, the survey by Qype found.

(via Going Underground)