I have a particular fondness for this headline. Don’t pretend you’re not impressed.
My friend and I hopped on a tube in the early evening to sit across from alcohol in human form. This poor chap had been drinking… Since Monday Morning. His tie was wrapped around his head and his shirt buttons were comedically out of sync. They were stretched over a rotund belly that poked out. His shoes were on the wrong feet and he was lollopping all over the carriage, stretched out over two or three seats, his bottom almost on the floor and his legs outstretched. We got stuck at a signal failure and say uncomfortably still in the depths of a tunnel and the guy started slurring about how he’d get up and “giv-giv-giverdruhvuhhrr peesa mah my-mind.” He started to cry at the frustration of it all. We learned forward and caught him as he slumped to the floor, and tried to chat to him to calm him down a bit. Turns out his life is stressful. He was in PR. So, not feeling awesome about my choice in vocation.
Things escalated and his slurring got so unintelligible that it all started to be a bit hilarious, and we choked back giggles because the more we laughed the harder he cry-laughed, and then just sad-cried which made us feel awful.
As my incredible luck would have it, two more drunk incidents happened this week on the tube. One guy, who looked and smelled like he’d actually gone for a swim in beer, had his headphones in and proceeded to give the entire carriage (probably unbeknownst to him because his eyes were closed the entire time) his rendition of Whitney Houston’s greatest ballads that were blaring from his earbuds. He whined along with Whitney, not forming a single actual word, but giving it his best shot. He was loud and proud and it was pretty glorious when he opted to throw in some head-banging during the bridge.
The second guy went with dance. It started off as a sad shuffle, and progressed to an even more sad swinging on the pole like a very stoned lady of the night.
The weather in London has been terribly dismal for a few weeks now, but today the sun stayed out for almost the duration. I love about English people that at the slightest sign of pleasant forecasts, the clothes come off. People are far too liberal with the rules of donning shorts and flip-flops.
This particular find was a young-old Casanova who believed he wasn’t beneath wearing his button-down shirt as more of a suggestion than a functioning garment. It was open to the navel, but tucked in beneath it. I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet. I was eye-to-nipple with a generous carpet of curly, vibrant red hair. This Wesley brother was missing from the books- but he was certainly one FOR the books.
This concludes the tube feature. Some things that I observed but was too lazy/busy (?) to write about:
OTT Tourists (there’s lots of these)
Guy in the most exquisite Armani suit… but wearing pukka shells around his neck,
Man and woman who were clearly MI6. CLEARLY.
A woman who chose to wear only a bra on top, no shirt or jacket.

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