Getting around in London by tube

Updated 17.8.01

A while back I wrote this piece for a website called Kissing Police, where I am a columnist. Last week someone from Ciao suggested I post it here as it was apparently "the funniest thing they'd ever read". While I am loathe to recycle my work I thought on this occasion I would oblige. Apologies for the swearing, if it offends anyone I will happily edit it out...

It's a common misconception that the longest word in the English dictionary is something like 'supercalifragilisticexpialidocious'. Or something like that. Anyway, regardless, anyone who has ever been to London will know that's incorrect, as the longest word in the English language is…

"Ivebeenhereforeightfuckingminutesnowand​forthatentireeightfuckingminutesth
atfuckingdotmatrixscreenhassaidnexttrain​threeminsandnowthefuckingtrainisar
rivinganditsaysedgwareviabankoniteventho​ughthescreensayshighbarnetviachari
ngcrossohwhyohfuckingwhydoipayeightyquid​amonthforthisyoulondonundergroundbastard​s."

So there.

Don't get me wrong, I love the tube. I particularly love it when you stand for half an hour on a packed sardine-tin, wondering who on earth came up with the concept of going to work at nine o'clock in the morning (evidently a complete twat, possibly called Jamie Oliver). So you're standing and you're, er, standing - the options here are rather limited - and then, through your dreamy haze, you spot someone getting off the train, freeing up a seat. You manoeuvre slowly towards it, only for some hyperactive bastard boarding the train having spotted the seat from the outside to jump into it as though it were the front of the 'Get Britney's Virginity Here' queue. This is only half the problem, as then you meander around for three seconds looking like a walking advert for Red Nose Day and pretending that you didn't really want to sit down, before cursing to yourself for three minutes until the next stop. Where the process repeats itself all over again. Yes, I love these seatswoopers; I love them so much that I call them a very special and endearing name: "It's Too Early In The Morning For This You F**king Scum Of The Earth Bastards."

Now, I realise that so far in this article I've sworn more than Shaun Ryder in a streetfight, so I shall not spend too much time on those aforementioned (bastard) dot (bastard) matrix (bastard) screens. Suffice to say the things actually manage to tell more lies than those three holier-than-thou-and-uglier-too 3am creatures from The Mirror, which must be some kind of record. Just a thought.

Anyway, I've come up with three important lessons which, if you can remember them, mean you will never go wrong on London Underground again:

1. Never trust a dot-matrix bastard, sorry, screen.
2. Always carry an umbrella with which you can spike anyone who attempts to barge past you and steal YOUR seat.
3. If you happen to be female and see a tall bloke with a grade 1 haircut standing at the west end of Upton Park station swearing to himself and kicking the nearest wall at around 8 in the morning, bear in mind that the best thing you can do in that situation is give him a lingering passionate kiss. With tongues.

Finally, some genuine mathematics. Here's a genuine exam question taken from the Ben Wilson Are You Really This Gullible Test 2001 which may tax your brain:
If train A is travelling towards Upminster ten minutes behind schedule, and train B will leave Wimbledon at eight minutes past the hour plus the time taken for the driver to walk from one end of the train to the other (invariably around six months), then how many London Underground directors are sitting on a beach in Marbella at the moment thanks to the ridiculously unscrupulous amount you paid for travelcards throughout the last year?

Answers on a postard please. Don't send them by tube as closing date is July 2008.

love,
Benny W