Commuting

Commuting in London is the pits. Mostly other people's armpits at close range, often men's legs spread so wide that you have to sit with your legs sideways, and occasionally people leaning on you because it's their tube and you shouldn't be in it, let alone sitting next to them. Bet they don't do that to big men. Little women are fair game though. The next time it happens, this is what I'll do. Just say very clearly and quite loudly, "Excuse me," [Translation: "Who the hell are you?"] "Please could you stop leaning on my shoulder? You're hurting me." [Translation: "You insensitive tosser, take your bullying tactics somewhere else. Oh look, now the whole carriage knows what you are. Want to carry on?"] All done with politeness.

There's usually the buzz of at least one ipod (or even phones when they've lost their earplugs) not quite loud enough to hear the tune and too loud to ignore. I want to shout "Ffs, turn it UP!" Which would at least be different. But if they're dancing, why can't we all? With very small steps, of course.

But people do smile, and they do apologise even for the occasional commuter rage incident. Well, mostly. I've been shoulder charged off a pavement because I was between a man and his railway station, and he didn't bother even to turn round, let alone pick me up off the road.
In general though, everyone hates the whole circus so much that they do identify with each other, so reason prevails surprisingly often. It's a pleasant surprise when it does.