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Getting on at King’s Cross, I was immediately drawn to an older gentleman with a big white beard perched on one of those cushioned ledges, intently studying the floor of the carriage. Somehow I just knew he would be up for having a chat.

Some people treat you suspiciously when you start talking to them but I didn’t get a hint of that with him and it wasn’t awkward, despite him banging his head on the wall after a couple of sentences. Older people are often more open to chatting, I find. Although he was at least in his 70s, he had a spritely glint in his eye and later told me that his job kept him “out of mischief.” His beard was impressively white, sticking out in all directions. As we talked I noticed he also had a few prominent hairs growing on the top of his nose.

He was going into central London for a meeting with his acting agency. What kind of acting? I asked. “TV and film, I don’t like the theatre because it’s too time consuming,” he said. Stupidly, I didn’t ask what he’d been in, but it seemed like it would’ve been the wrong thing to say somehow, a little rude.

I could tell from his accent that he was a Yorkshireman, Bradford it turned out, but now he lived in the Midlands. “I love coming here though, it’s an experience travelling around on these tubes, isn’t it?”

I’ll see you on TV then shall I? I asked as we reached his stop. “You might do,” he said waggling his eyebrows mischievously. Just as the doors opened, he turned round and pointed at me from the hip with both hands. “Rave it up… ciao!” and with that was gone.

On the return journey, I sat down next to a neat-looking girl with long ginger hair, about my age, and struck up a conversation. As I’ve written before, it’s often a little awkward starting tube conversations with younger women, because either they think that I’m hitting on them, or I’m worried that they’ll think that I’m hitting on them, but this was fine and she was happy to chat and laugh.

Perhaps it’s because she was new to the city, having moved from Germany a month ago to do a PhD in neuroscience. “I was actually studying psychology, but now I’m looking at how the motor areas of the brain work.” I gave her a bit of a blank look. “We are basically holding a magnet to the head and so we can move the hand. It’s really interesting.” Sounds a little scary too, I added, a black and white clip of Frankenstein playing in my head.

She told me a bit more about the experiment and it became apparent that she was actually “a subject,” having this done to herself. “Yeah, I have to be.” What does it feel like? “You don’t feel anything. It’s strange.”

We reached her stop, said a pleasant goodbye, and she went off to experiment on brains. The tube, like London, is full of such different people doing a weird and wonderful range of different things. You never know who you’re going to meet.

Posted by  |  14 May, 2012 | Categories: Friendly, Older, Piccadilly Line, Tube, Younger | Tags: , , | 1 Comment »

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A tired-looking man with a deeply lined face pierced by bright green eyes leans over the shoulder of a smartly suited man with his back to me on a busy Northern Line train. I’d say he was in his 50’s but it was hard to tell. As he reaches up to scratch his nose, I notice he’s holding a copy of the Evening Standard and use this as my introduction.

This is the first conversation I’ve had on the tube in a while and it was just as difficult as ever. A friend recently compared it to cold calling in her job. It is similar, only with cold calling at least you have a reason to be bothering someone.

Anything interesting in the paper today? I venture over the suit’s shoulder. “Not a great deal no,” he replies. There’s a pause and I wonder if I’m going to have to ask something else but he carries on: “Not a lot that would interest you anyway.” I don’t know whether to be offended or not until he continues. “They’re being urged to improve provision for the elderly. Which I’ll be interested in fairly soon.”

The train reaches the next stop and everyone shuffles around in the packed carriage as people push through to get off but we find ourselves in more or less the same position. I tell him about an elderly woman I interviewed last week and how she objected to the media portrayal of older people as a burden on society.

“What I’m more upset about is that the amount of money I’ve put into pensions over the years seems to be funding a pretty good pension for people in the pensions industry,” he smiles. It seems like a line he’s used before. “I think it’s about £120 a year after all that.” His voice is low and fairly mono-tonal but cuts crisply over the noise of the tube. It contrasts strikingly with the silence around us.

It’s melted away a bit then has it? I ask, not really knowing what the right terminology is when discussing pensions. “Through a series of redundancies and bad business times I haven’t put enough in I suppose,” he says with a touch of bitterness. “My parents’ generation were the last ones that were completely alright with government inflation linked pensions.”

“I’ve put all mine into making sure my kids have a good start. With a bit of luck they’ll be able to look after me. But if they decide otherwise then that’s my life buggered,” he laughs more genuinely this time. Better be nice to them, I say as the train comes to a stop and we are separated in another reshuffle.

Good luck, I say as I squeeze past him a stop later. “Bye then, cheers,” he nods.

Afterwards, I look for the article that he was referring to in the Evening Standard. I look through the whole paper but can’t find anything on that topic at all. Perhaps he was referring to another paper, or maybe it was just on his mind.

Posted by  |  8 May, 2012 | Categories: Northern Line, Older, Tube | Tags: , , , | Leave A Comment »

I got blanked! This has never happened to me before. I got on, sat down next to a middle aged woman wearing glasses and a puffer jacket. The seat to my left was empty but there were three men sitting opposite. I glanced at them, then my phone, and then turned to her.

Hi, how’s your day going? She turned, looked me in the eye and turned away to face the glass partition. The three guys opposite looked on impassively. I didn’t know what to do. I probably should have said. ‘OK don’t worry’ or something but didn’t. I felt my face flush and intently looked up at the adverts. The train came into the next station. Should I get off?

I resisted the temptation and thankfully another older woman with short hair and wearing a warm pink coat sat down on my left. Deep breath. She responded much better, flustered and laughing, but soon settled and was very friendly. I completely forgot about the other woman who stayed sitting on my right for the whole conversation.

This new, friendly lady had been shopping. “I’ve been trying to buy some shoes and now my feet hurt.” She hadn’t got any in the end and was now heading for Stratford to pick up something she’d seen earlier. I’ve heard about that shopping centre, I said, sounds a bit terrifying to me. “Well, I don’t think I’ve done all of it. I think I just get off and walk straight to John Lewis so I haven’t seen anything else.”

I said something about Meadowhall, the shopping centre in Sheffield that is commonly known as Meadowhell. “Oh my son was at uni in Sheffield,” she said, “and now he’s settled there. I don’t know if you know it, they live off Ecclesall Road.” I know it well, I told her, I grew up around there. We talked about Sheffield and London and good places to live. She didn’t think much of where I’d been living in Whitechapel or Elephant & Castle, but was pleased to hear I was moving to North East London. “There’s a lot going on there,” she said, “Not that I’d know of course!”

I told her what I missed were the hills and we went back to talking about her son and where he lived in Sheffield. “It’s right near the Botanical gardens,” she said, trying to remember the name. “East-something road.” Not Eastgrove Road? I asked. “Oh yeah that’s it!” You’re kidding! That’s actually the road I grew up on! Small world.

She lived in Epping and told me how the town had grown around her house. She said they’d thought about moving, somewhere accessible to her son in Sheffield and daughter (getting married, hence the shoe shopping) in London, but had never really got round to it. We were getting on really well but I had to stop her mid flow to tell her we’d reached my stop and say goodbye.

I gave the woman who blanked me a side glance as I left the carriage. I wonder what she had made of our conversation?

Posted by  |  5 March, 2012 | Categories: Awkward, Central Line, Friendly, Older, Tube | Leave A Comment »

Because of my schedule and general disposition I tend to still be asleep between 8 and 9am, and as I went down to the platform I realised that I’d never actually been on the tube at morning rush hour before. The first thing that struck me was that, despite teeming with people, it’s very quiet. Changing from the Northern Line at Stockwell, the only sounds to be heard amid the surge of suited bodies coming from trains and escalators was the clicking of heels on tile, the rustle of newspapers and the occasional tinny fizz of someone else’s headphones.

This is not an easy time of day to strike up a conversation. Everyone is still waking up, on their way to work, mentally preparing themselves for the day and very much in their own world. A lot of people are reading a newspaper (mainly the free ones) or books and many have headphones in. Plus, I’m still half asleep myself.

It’s quiet on the carriage as well, and the Victoria line doesn’t have the roar and shriek of some of the other lines, so when I started talking to someone we spoke in hushed voices so as not to stand out in the silence. He didn’t actually say anything at first when I asked him about the day ahead, just shook his head. A graphic designer, he was quite shy and I felt like I was intruding a little by asking him questions. We talked for a while and I tried to lure him to tell me a bit about his life outside of work and what he did creatively but he either didn’t do anything or wasn’t willing to tell me.

Coming down from North London, a middle aged man ran onto the train as the doors beeped their closing beep, looking flustered. He fidgeted, looked rushed and uncomfortable and checked his watch, giving the general impression of a man who is running late.

I waited for him to settle down a bit and started chatting. He seemed pleased by the novelty of it and relaxed. He was a charity youth worker and I asked him if he enjoyed his job. “I love it,” he said unequivocally. “You can make a difference to someone’s life and help them turn it around. That’s important.” And do you think you do? I asked. “I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t,” he smiled.

So what was going to be the highlight of his day? “Going home I think.” I looked at him quizzically. “Today I’ve got to do all the admin stuff. I’m not seeing any young people.” He explained that there was a lot of paperwork involved, largely showing that what he did was effective to get funding. It sounded frustrating for someone who clearly relished the human interaction side of his job.

I told him that that was the side of my job as a bartender that I enjoyed and made it tolerable. He asked if we had a lot of regulars and if I knew what drinks they were having before they ordered. Of course, I told him, we even keep a glass in the fridge for one of them. “I think that’s something a lot of places have lost, that local feel.” He didn’t know the area I worked in. “I don’t think I’ll ever know the whole city,” he said, “it’s always changing.”

We talked at some length about London, his home for 20 years. Some people I’ve talked to have spoken almost grudgingly about London, as a place they’ve come for work and don’t really regard as home, but not this guy. “I love London. I’ve travelled around a bit but I always love coming back. I wouldn’t live anywhere else.” He spoke enthusiastically, passionately even, but also very calmly. “If you like culture it’s got it all: theatre, some of the best art galleries in the world, museums, architecture.”

We reached his stop and said a pleasant goodbye, wishing each other a good day.

Posted by  |  3 February, 2012 | Categories: Tube, Victoria Line | Tags: , , , , | 1 Comment »

On the way back from seeing a friend, I got on the train to find a noisy group of people in their early 20s taking up the end of the carriage. I eavesdropped on their conversation for a while – mostly jokes at each other’s expense, some flirting between the boys and girls and lots of laughing and shrieking. A couple of older people sat opposite looked slightly put out by the commotion but everyone’s attention in the carriage was covertly on them, like we were all secretly watching a performance.

When there was a lull in the conversation between the two guys sitting next to me, I leaned over and asked where they were going. “Ministry of Sound!” they said excitedly. I laughed. My building is right next door, I told them, I even have to get the bouncers to move the barriers to let me in if there’s a big queue. “No way!” From then on they were completely engaged, like I’d joined the group. They were all studying bio-chemistry and knew each other from the course. They weren’t that drunk, but a bit merry. The two I chatted to were both fellow northerners, and full of energy and we chatted enthusiastically about living in London and our hometowns and all the usual stuff.

Getting off the train, I walked ahead, not really knowing whether to wait or not, and got separated from them. I got into the lift with a middle-aged woman who had been sitting opposite and had been watching us chat. “All going out are they?” she smiled knowingly as the doors closed. She seemed very comfortable talking to me after seeing me striking up conversation on the train. She wanted to know what it was like living next to the club. A bit loud, I told her, but I can sleep through it. Weirdly, it turned out she was involved in developing another building nearby and there had been some controversy about noise levels. Well, it’s alright for young people, I told her, but I think you’d get complaints from anyone else.

We were now chatting just outside the tube station exit, and the club-goers had caught up so, waving goodbye to her, I walked with them around the roundabout to, well, my front door, chatting as we went. Have you been before? I asked, seeing as I hadn’t. One had once. “I haven’t,” said the other, “but I broke up with my girlfriend a few weeks ago and so I thought I should make the effort to go out more.” I might come, I said, half-joking as we got to my building. “Yeah, come! Bring your flatmates!” (I’d told them I lived with a lot of Spanish girls), “We’ll buy you a drink!” I’ll think about it, I said going into my building laughing to myself.

None of the flatmates were going out, so I was sitting in my room, listening to the faint thud of the bass coming from the club and thought, oh what the hell? I don’t have work ’til four tomorrow, why not? So off I went, and the rest is a little hazy if I’m honest. I felt a little sheepish at first I must admit, but their “You made it!” attitude was put me at ease. I fessed up to writing the blog after a round of dubious blue shots which they found hilarious, promising to read about themselves later.

And Ministry? Impressive lighting, very loud sound system, great atmosphere (if a little edgy at times) and the slowest drinks service ever.

Posted by  |  27 January, 2012 | Categories: Friendly, Northern Line, Tube, Younger | Leave A Comment »

It’s been a while, and I haven’t spoken to anyone on the tube since – let me check – mid-December. I’d forgotten how difficult it is to make that initial approach. I tried to talk to a few people yesterday for about an hour, but only really spoke to one person and that wasn’t that interesting. Today though, I set off with some more determination. While I’ve had some time off from doing this I’ve given some thought to how I can do it a bit differently.

As part of this, I’m travelling up and down lines, like I did for the BBC radio thing (coming soon), and picking the best or most interesting encounter. I find that really hard because to be honest I think they’re all interesting in their way, but a bit of editorial control will probably improve the ones I do write up. Therefore sadly I’ll have to leave out the big Jamaican underground worker, the twitchily nervous union rep and the suspicious but curious education professional and get on with it.

I sat down next to a stout gentleman in his thirties wearing jeans and a green coat and immediately started chatting. He responded well and was quick to start asking questions. He told me he had to go do his tax return this afternoon. Oh, what do you do? I asked. “I’m a vicar.” A vicar? Really? And you have to do a tax return? “Yeah, we’re technically self-employed.” Well, you learn something every day, don’t you?

I can’t say I’d ever given much consideration to the employment status of the clergy, I said, finding my eyes flickering to his throat to see if he was wearing a collar (he wasn’t). “You wouldn’t know you’re self-employed because everything comes from this centralized body and you get paid every month.” I had to work hard to supress any jokes about that ‘centralized body’ in fact being God. I’m not religious, so I stayed away from that, but I was still curious about what he did.

What’s it like being a vicar? I asked, rather bluntly. “Um, I love it,” he said, in a somewhat subdued way. “I’m busy and it’s full on. Most people are working in the day so there’s a lot of admin and visiting old and ill people and then in the evening you’re getting people ready for baptisms and weddings.”

I asked what he spent most of his time doing. “Well at the moment quite a lot of fundraising. It’s an old church and needs renovating to the tune of about a million quid.” I whistled. That must be difficult to get hold of at the moment. “Tricky, tricky but not impossible. It’s just a matter of persuading the right people that they want to give it to us. Also a lot of visiting people. I’m fairly new in the post so there’s a lot of that and coming up with the strategy for the next five years or so.”

We talked about London and how we felt about it. “I think a lot of people say they love it…when they’re not in it. It’s a tough city, everyone’s very anonymous.” Would you say it’s a friendly city? I asked. There was a long pause, and I could tell he was trying not to be too negative. “Not really, I wouldn’t,” he admitted. “It can be. It’s unpredictable really. No one talks to you.” We both grinned.

He asked me about where I lived, where I’d been and what my plans were for the future. He was clearly very comfortable in this kind of situation, which I suppose is important for a vicar. This let me get onto my theme for the day, did he have any new years’ resolutions? “Not really, I’m not a very new year person.” He said he felt overwhelmed when trying to think about what he wanted from the year and always ended up with a feeling of “Oh, where do I start?” I never imagined vicars as leading busy or even hectic lives, but it seemed he had the same problems as everyone else in that respect.

No one I spoke to actually had any new years’ resolutions, or at least none they’d admit to. When I pushed the big Jamaican underground worker, asking where he saw himself on 1st January 2013, his answer was simply “rich and not doing this anymore” but in fairness he had just finished a shift and I know that feeling.

The vicar, talking about his plans for the future of his parish, did say that he had a vision for what he wanted “the whole thing” to be in four years or so. “The building to be restored and for it to be used seven days a week, not just for church things. When it was built it was the focal point of the community and it’s lost that, although geographically it still is.”

“There’s a lot of wealth in the area, some houses worth around 20-30 million but there’s quite a big social housing contingent. There’s not very much in the middle.” Earlier, I’d asked him what he meant by strategy and, as well as building use, he’d mentioned outreach. Do you see part of your role as being a bridge between those two sections of the community? I wondered. “Yeah I think to at least engage with them, and try and get them to engage with each other, but it’s quite a big ask really.”

We had reached his stop and he got up, shook my hand and then asked my name and told me his. I realised that through all this time I’ve been talking to people and all the things they’ve told me, I’ve never once found out one of their names before.

Posted by  |  17 January, 2012 | Categories: Bakerloo Line, Friendly, Tube | Tags: , , , , | 1 Comment »

I spoke to two very different people on this journey, the first an older stony faced South American and the second a fashionably dressed guy around my age. On paper, if I’d taken a photo of each of them before I’d started talking to them, you would definitely say that I was more likely to get on with the second, but once again my expectations were wrong and appearances were deceptive.

I stood next to the first guy for a stop before talking to him. He really did not look very approachable, staring vacantly from behind a stubbly and frowning face like a slab of granite. He was maybe in his late 30’s, with a few flecks of grey in his black hair. When I asked him how his day was going, however, he instantly smiled and talked. He even came across as quite boyish, which I think was because his English wasn’t perfect, although definitely good enough, so he was a little embarrassed.

He was on his way to a Venezuelan market in “Eastonn” (Euston) to try and find some food from home, things you couldn’t get hold of in shops. We chatted about living abroad, his studies and different Christmas traditions and foods (apparently a Venezuelan Christmas dinner consists of corn, fried beans and chickpeas, olives rice with “ham bread” if you’re interested). He was keen to talk and was quick to ask me questions when I let the silence hang.

In contrast, the second guy was one of those young people that populate London who seem so sure of themselves, yet are also simultaneously so self-conscious. He was roughly my age, small and slight, wearing a jacket and maroon jeans. He wouldn’t have looked out of place in my circle of friends and I nearly didn’t speak to him, thinking him too easy a target.

What followed was an edgy, uncomfortable conversation dotted with silences and awkward laughter. How’s your day going? was my opener. “Alright mate,” he said with a snort. “Only just started really.” He was on his way home to Bristol for an early Christmas with his family as he was away for Christmas day. I had to do a lot of the talking, and asked him if he preferred Bristol or London. “London, definitely.” What’s good about it? “Going out, I suppose. Places like Fabric, Cable. It’s good for shopping.” Ah, I hate shopping, I told him. “Yeah, me too, I don’t really know why I said that,” he said in a steady dull tone, not intended for laughs.

While not being unfriendly, he was quite dismissive and uninterested, completely different to the first guy. I felt like I was really talking to him, while with the second guy it was more like I was dealing with the front he was putting forward. Which I suppose is fair enough really, after all I was a stranger talking to him on the tube.

Posted by  |  15 December, 2011 | Categories: Awkward, Friendly, Hammersmith & City Line, Hipster, International, Tube, Younger | 1 Comment »

A couple of weeks ago a producer from the BBC contacted me through Twitter, asking if I’d like to be part of a radio programme for the World Service. Of course I jumped at the chance, and next thing I knew I was being wired up with a hi-tech collar mic to go talking to people on the District Line (again) with two producers watching from nearby. We went right down to the end of the line and back, starting conversations and then moving carriages, ending with them interviewing me. Doing things a little differently let me reflect a bit on the project and my experiences so far, as well as talking to six very different people.

Being followed around whilst talking to people didn’t feel strange at all. There’s always a carriage full of people watching and listening to you, and whenever I start talking to someone I tend to forget about everyone else anyway. So that was fine but a strange thing that we had to do was to ask people’s permission to use the recording afterwards. This felt a bit treacherous if I’m honest. People walk off with a sense of having had a nice conversation and then you confront them saying ‘Actually it was all for a thing we’re doing.’ I suppose that’s what I’m always doing for this blog, but telling them felt like a bit of a ‘gotcha’ moment. By the time the conversations had finished, I repeatedly forgot that I was supposed to ask and had to chase people down the platform. With one woman I even blurted out “I usually do this anyway!” at the end.

The first guy I spoke to – a self-employed carpenter (plenty of work apparently) on his way to get a new passport so he could go on holiday to Greece – actually spotted the mic pretty early on in the conversation and was a bit cagey throughout because of it. He was a quiet guy who seemed like he kept himself to himself anyway but was friendly enough. I suppose he was playing along. It reminded me of why I don’t tell people I talk to about the blog. Although it’s a little dishonest, I think you get a better picture of what they are really like – they’re not playing up to anything.

So far, most of the conversations I’ve had have been around central London, I haven’t gone the length of a line talking to people like we did this time. I got quite a sense of changing areas as we went across from East to West, something (being new to the city) I hadn’t really considered before. The second guy I spoke to, a retired gent who used to be in advertising, on his way to take part in a bridge tournament, couldn’t have been more of an upper-class West London stereotype. Posh as the PM (I think he said he went to Oxford but can’t quite remember), he quizzed me on my university and prospects like I’d just started dating his daughter. Still, he was very pleasant, explaining bridge to me (“I play when I can… when the wife lets me!”), and we had quite a laugh in the end.

Also, like in the last post, he actually started the conversation with me (“At least the train drivers aren’t on strike,” harrumph!). Friends have told me they’ve been catching the tube for years and that has never happened to them and it’s happened to me twice in a week. I think it must be something to do with my body language. In both cases I was about to start talking to them, so there must have been something open about the way I was positioning myself or maybe they just caught me glancing at them. It’ll be interesting to see if this continues to happen anyway.

The most striking conversation I had was with a huge Bosnian man on his way to Ikea who owned his own construction company. He didn’t look like the friendliest of people, but as soon as I got him going it was like opening a floodgate. Some people really have something to say, something they seem like they’re dying to tell someone. I wonder if they go on about it to their friends as well. After giving me the (negative) inside track on the building trade – running out of money on jobs, people not paying up – he moved on to talking about how London had changed. He said that things used to be more fun but now people were more money motivated and the joy had been sucked out of the city. He spoke very strongly about it, and I wonder how much it reflected his own life.

He got a phone call and talked in Bosnian (I got the impression it was a work call) for the last few stops and I didn’t know how we were going to get his permission until one of the producers got in front of him on the platform. He said he’d call whoever it was back. He didn’t seem bothered about the secret mic bit, and when he found out it was for the BBC, he really got going; on gambling (preying on the vulnerable) and the state of London. He was really impassioned about it, talking for a good 10 minutes before the producer stopped him, saying we had to go. The most striking bit I remember was a story he related about seeing an old fox that didn’t seem scared of people or traffic anymore. “That’s how people are today. They don’t care if they live or they die.” Probably the most negative and angry person I’ve talked to but at the same time friendly, glad to have someone to get it off his chest to.

Before we headed back into town I asked the producers how they thought it was going. “Great, way better than we expected.” They were really surprised that people responded so positively when approached on the tube, as are most people. It’s true, I’ve also been impressed by how happy people are to talk. Those who aren’t I think are partly suspicious that I’m trying to sell them something or are just more caught up in social convention and most open up more if the conversation runs for a while. I would really urge people to do this more on their commutes; it’s been a really positive experience on the whole. (I’d also love to hear stories of other people doing it!)

Heading back into to town I spoke to a quiet social worker from Nigeria who, after being very hesitant and suspicious at first, was opening up a bit (her attitude reminded me of the girl from Ghana I spoke to a while ago) when one of the producers intervened and gave the spiel about being from the BBC. Unfortunately she’d been too quiet to pick up on the mic. We weren’t quite at the station yet though so there was a minute of really awkward silence where we all sat not knowing what to say now. I couldn’t really bear it so tried to carry on chatting but it was very weird and we mercifully reached the station and changed carriages after about a minute.

After speaking to a lovely Colombian woman on her way to do her Christmas shopping in Hammersmith who I owned up to about the mic when some rowdy kids got on, drowning her out (she didn’t mind and we waved to each other through the window when she got off), the producers interviewed me. This involved a lot of faffing with expensive looking equipment and drew stares from across the aisle with people wondering who I was and why I was being interviewed. At one point they asked me to describe people’s body language, including a guy who was staring straight at me, which was excruciatingly awkward. I really hope they don’t use it!

It was only at the end that they told me that there wasn’t going to be any narration on the programme, at which point I realised that I hadn’t mentioned anything about writing a blog the entire way through the recording. So much for self-promotion. It seems I may well come across as a well-meaning crazy person, travelling the tube, talking to people for my own amusement. I suppose that’s what I’m doing anyway though really, isn’t it? The programme goes out on the World Service in January so I’ll post the link to it then.

Posted by  |  8 December, 2011 | Categories: Awkward, District Line, Friendly, International, Older, Tube | Tags: | 1 Comment »

The most striking thing about this conversation was that it wasn’t me that started it.

The improvement works on the Hammersmith and City line meant I had to change my route and take the District. I sat down, studying the line map opposite and only really checked out the guy I had sat next to after. He was a mixed race guy with a goatee wearing a puffer jacket and holding a tube map and fiddling with a Blackberry. The screen showed a number of messages from a Mr Mohammed. At first I thought he might be a tourist, because of the tube map, and was getting ready to start chatting to him when an elderly, Mediterranean-looking woman’s phone rang and she shouted into it, incomprehensively.

“How’s she getting signal down here?” he said unexpectedly, lifting his own phone a little. This is the first time anyone has tried to start a conversation with me on the tube! Better network, I suppose, I ventured, a little wrong-footed, maybe it’s a spy phone? She didn’t particularly look like the spy type, I don’t really know why I said that. Anyway, seeing as he’d started it, I didn’t hesitate to set off chatting to him and he whole conversation was very easy and natural.

He was on his way to see Wolves play Chelsea at Stamford Bridge. Are you a Chelsea fan? I asked. “Nah man,” he laughed. Wolves fan? “No, I just love my football. I’m a Man United fan really but it’s a long trip y’know?” He spoke slowly and deliberately, very calm, almost laconic, with a hint of Caribbean in his voice. He’d been born in Manchester was his rueful excuse for this when I asked him why Man U, clearly a well worn topic.

“Of course I want Wolves to win,” he said, “but nah, I don’t really see Chelsea as a threat to be honest. Man City’s the new threat, the way they’re coming on.” We talked about football for a bit, which he was clearly very knowledgeable about. I tried to keep up.

A weird moment came when he was talking enthusiastically about the Champions League final: “I was in Barcelona for that game in a pub, full of Man U fans and there were altogether about four Barcelona fans and when we equalized, I was just like…” He did an impression of celebrating wildly. “Everyone’s thinking ‘this nutcase’… just give it a couple more minutes.” He made a little gesture and looked round as he said this, making it unclear whether he was talking about the Barcelona fans last summer or the other people on the tube right now.

He came across as quite an East London wide-boy, but at the same time was pretty well-spoken and friendly. I wonder if it was a moment of insecurity, that he thought the other passengers, particularly the old couple opposite perhaps, were judging him.

We got onto my childhood team (Sheffield Wednesday) and their current woes in League One. “Southend are at the top aren’t they?” Men don’t like to appear ignorant about football, and often try and bullshit rather than admit they don’t know something, but this was a bit much for me. I don’t really follow League One that closely, I said.

“I only do ‘cause I gamble,” he said. Do you win any money? I asked. “Sometimes. Yesterday I had a 50 pound bet on two games and ended up winning 195. Bit of money for the weekend. Last week was apparently the biggest pay out in the bookies history for football.” He seemed even more enthused by this than about the football itself. “Everyone won. There was this guy who had an 85p bet who won like 585 pounds.”

I said that he’d motivated me and maybe I’d have a bet on today’s games now. “It’s fun but you should do it just for fun, alright? You can’t be risking your savings and everything and then you think ‘oh I’ll give it some more.’ Then you end up spending everything you’ve got, man.”

We were coming up to my stop now, and he asked me some questions about what I was doing in London, whether I liked it and what I got up to. “Saturday night yeah, that’s when it’s all about living in London.” He advised me to go to a place called Maddox, near Mayfair, apparently a good place to go celebrity spotting. I got up and we shook hands. Enjoy the game, I said as we nodded at each other.

Posted by  |  5 December, 2011 | Categories: District Line, Friendly, Tube | 2 Comments »

I was in a good mood, stepping on to the train, smiling to myself about how bad the busker had been at the bottom of the escalators at Liverpool Street. I’d deliberately chosen a section of the carriage that looked fuller but everyone standing in my section looked very grey and drab. I made brief eye contact with a guy but he looked away quickly and had earphones in. The guy standing across the aisle from me leaning against the handrail looked dour and a little gaunt, but I’ve learned that appearances can be deceptive in this game.

How’s your day going? I asked, smiling. He gave me the international look for ‘what’s that mate?’ so I repeated the question. “Tiring,” he said. He really did look tired, deflated almost. What have you been up to? “Meetings.” Travelling around a lot? He said he’d had a couple around town. I get bored on the tube, I said, so it’s nice to meet people when you travel. Occasionally, when things are a bit awkward, I try to justify why I’m talking to someone but invariably end up sounding more like a lunatic for it.

What have your meetings been about? “Design,” he mumbled. I babbled a bit about having the day off but working at night – a barman’s weekend is his week and all that – during which it became apparent that he was getting off at the next stop. Well, I hope you make it through to Friday night. “Cheers,” he chuckled as he got off. I wonder if I had any impact on his day. He probably just thought I was a bit weird.

A big, older man got on, and stood in the middle of the aisle, holding on to an overhead railing. He looked around and then pulled out a fairly battered, thick book and flopped it open. I looked him up and down. He had a broad, stubbly face and was wearing what appeared to be rubber tipped blue suede shoes, red tracky bottoms, an itchy-looking hairy grey sweater and a blue and white woolly hat. In short, he looked like a bit of a character.

Good book? I asked. He didn’t hear me but I was willing to give it another go after the success of this tactic last time. Good book? Still no response. I couldn’t give up now, other people had heard me. He was either ignoring me, a bit dozy or just very engrossed in the book. I moved a bit to try and get his attention and tried again, firmly. Good book?

He looked up, a bit surprised. “Yeah, it’s alright.” What is it? He showed me the cover – ‘Winter in Madrid.’ Would you recommend it as a Christmas present? I asked. He regarded me with curious bemusement, unsure whether to be suspicious or not. “Yeah, if you like a thriller. It’s about the Spanish Civil War.” Out of 5? “I’d give it 4. It’s caught my attention, which is what you want from a book really.”

I told him that I was in Madrid last winter and that it was freezing. “Did it snow?” he asked. No, I told him, but people said that was unusual and it got down to -7C in the mornings. We talked edgily about Madrid and Christmas presents. It wasn’t a comfortable conversation but at least he was more up for it than the last guy.

Where are you going today? I asked. He looked around as if searching for an answer. “I’ve got an art class, here actually,” he said, making to leave. “Take care,” he said as he left, sounding like he really thought I should.

Posted by  |  26 November, 2011 | Categories: Awkward, Central Line, Older, Tube | Tags: , , | Leave A Comment »

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