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Friday, August 10, 2007

Needless Bellowing

Clearly I have many wonderful stories about riding the tube, but today I would like to talk about the London Underground instead.

Clearly the Underground is some sort of crazy magnet, leaving you trapped in a metal box with people you wouldn't normally go within a hundred foot of on a good day with the wind in the right direction. I've seen all sorts of things on there - though none will ever mystify me more than how women manage put their make-up on while the tube's juddering up and down like Micheal J Fox without his medicine. It's an art form, it really is, and leaves me with utter wonderment that most the women in the city don't go to work looking like they've had their slap put on by Jackson Pollack.

In fact I saw a woman doing her make-up and reading Harry Potter the other day, clearly flaunting her female brain multi-tasking skills to our simple one-task male brains. Hell, we can barely stand there; if we need to do anything other than talk, our brain has to divert all attention to that and we crash to the ground like Lindsey Lohan's film career. And this is why, ladies, we only grunt our responses to you when you're talking to us. It's not that we aren't interested in your work colleagues attempts to lose two pounds to get that man in I.T., its because we're trying to save your face by not falling over by responding. Oh yes.

The appearance of Harry Potter No. 7 on the tube has thus developing a weird kind of Tourettes within me that, whenever I see one of those overly-large tomes, I have an almost uncontrollable urge to go near them and bellow the ending in their ears. Well, it serves them right for being so slow; even I am in a post-Potter wasteland, and I read like a retard. Seriously - my finger was aching by the time I got to the last chapter and my mind was wandering all over the place to the extent that I was wondering if you could buy Horcruxes from Argos as they sound mighty useful to have around the house. You know, for when difficult guests pop around and you haven't got a pot roast ready.

If anything, bellowing the end at people would stop them having to carry bags twice the size than normal to carry the bally thing around with them. There's no space on the tube at the best of times, with rush-hour meaning that the carriage is as full as any of Janet Jackson's sweat pants. Honestly, I went to work the other day with my face pressed in a strange gentleman's armpit while three woman's magazines and a Curly-Wurly were pressed into the small of my back. And I haven't done the like of that since my 'modelling' career back in the day. Hey, those shots were artistic and tasteful, I'll have you know!

2 comments:

savante said...

Would love to see that bellowing bit in real for once - can imagine the lady's indignation! :)

Andy said...
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