The Daily Rant - Journey By Torture

I have a twice daily feeling of loathing for life in this great city of London and both those instances are immediately preceded by a journey on the London Underground. This is the commonest of the common complaints in London, of course, but it still doesn't make it any less annoying. My particular rant has nothing to do with the externals - the delays, the strikes, the failed signals, the passenger actions, the emergency alarm activations, the suspect parcels at tube stations, the fire alerts and so on. Its the internals - the belly of the monster - that gets me.

I feel particularly hard done by. You see my closest tube station is Hounslow Central. So eastbound trains will have originated at Heathrow. Where our esteemed tourists would have filled the train up with their luggage and their asses and, to ensure a royal ride into town, placed their bags on the seats next to them and would rather not move them even when they can see us local commuters dying to rest our own hindsides while we get our daily fix of Metro. Equally annoying is everyone's refusal to acknowledge that an old lady/man, a pregnant woman or a woman with a young child might need the seat more than them. But I am told we desperately need tourist dollars/yen/euros so that we can start spending again ourselves so - so much for a seat when travelling to work.

If, however, the Underground Gods see it fit to grant me sitting space on an especially auspicious day, a new dilemma presents itself. Should I sit on that seat which has white muck stuck to it, smells funny, is playing host to a copy of the Metro, an empty juice carton/paper coffee cup and a chocolate wrapper all placed artistically and looks like its been recycled from the rubbish dump from hell? Do I really need to? Or should I act chivalrous and let someone else take the seat, even though its been reserved for me by aforementioned Underground Gods? Chivalry wins, legs take a 45 min pounding on the way to South Kensington where a new thrill awaits. The brush (or should I say crush) of (in)humanity as it rushes past you on its way into the carriage while you are still trying to work out whether you should get hit by the left or right closing jaw of the door on your desperate escape from Tubeworld.

The ride back home in the evening presents a different set of challenges - usually of the auditory kind. People on mobiles talking loudly coz you can't quite hear them. People playing their iPods loud enough through those dinky white headphones so that you can keep up with musical trends and the top 10 dance/metal/pop anthems on a daily basis. Wailing children, talkative excitable tourists leaving and Londoners escaping, ringing mobiles, humming weirdo old women, busking twat murdering latest Coldplay song - all add up to be the perfect recipe for a mini brain explosion. Ergo expletive laden outburst on first "having minded the gap" step out.

So - what's wrong with me? Clearly its lunacy to expect civil and well mannered behaviour from presumably educated and cultured citizens of the world. Equally transparent is my utter inability to withstand a sensory assault in the audible frequency range. And shameful is my complete lack of athletic ability in being unable to stand for a couple of hours while dodging assorted items of luggage and paraphernalia.

Therefore, I must return to the tube and learn to bite my lip and reflect on my own inadequacies next time I feel that rising tide of bile and thunder in the eyes.