Monday, November 21, 2011


I think the city's going a little squirrelly. Christmas is just over a month away and the annual scramble has commenced at work to get everything done before people go on holidays. It's making commuters (me) grumpier than ever, because fellow commuters (you know who you are) have been struck down with Christmasitis - the disease all Brits get when it becomes clear they must drink from morning 'til night if they are to train their livers for the multitude of Christmas parties ahead.

Okay, I don't know if any of them are actually drunk in the morning, but I was definitely forced to bring out the pointy elbows this morning. One fellow had the nerve to stand on the left on an extremely long escalator so he could talk to his friend on the right. I came up behind him and tutted loudly (oh, yes I did, and I'm not the least ashamed). I'm sure I greatly embarrassed my husband, but it got me results. Commuter's friend said to him 'You're being tutted at,' and as the offender moved out of the way I gave him my most charming smile laced with disapproval.

Another fellow thought the pole in the middle of the carriage was his to lean against, leaving me with nothing to hold on to (as I am far too short to comfortably reach the bars above the seats). I rectified that by jabbing my thumb into his back. 'Sorry!' I singsonged as he jumped away, 'just trying to hold on'.

London, you're going soft. Christmas may be the time for goodwill, but that time has not yet come. In the meantime, my commute had better be filled with people like me. We may be ill-tempered and ruthless, but at least we all obey the same rules.

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