You know London is a strange Hodge pot of people……

You only need to Jump on a tube to realise this. And this is exactly where I find myself now; looking at the variety life truly has to offer. And my GOD is it varied. On one chair sits a rock throw back trying to pull off the Sid vicious look. Then there is the guy who thinks he is in an Armani ad. Side parted slicked hair and all pouty bottom lip. He has pointy shoes. I hate pointy shoes. It's a waste of shoe. Your toes CANNOT possibly fit all the way down there, and it's a tripping hazard. Couple this with the fact the guy is standing with this air of the Adonis about him and enough aftershave to drown you in. I am trying not to open my mouth, as when I do I’m practically chewing the smell. As I shuffle myself sideways to let Mr Armani off, he is replaced by Mr Italian Stallion who along with his suede shoes, masculine belt buckle, and slightly open shirt, steps onto the tube with shades on. Shades? ON a tube. Matey boy, we are UNDER GROUND. Has he any clue how fucking ridiculous he looks?

But blimey, .It certainly is a melting pot. It seems that most people are represented. Couples, Singles, men, women, colour, families…..Then There's me. The token lezza, with a guitar on her back thawcking people every time I move. I've already begun back pack war with a poor unsuspecting traveller behind me. To be honest, I'm probably going to win. Mines bigger. After hitting Mr back-pack traveller several times with the large guitar strapped to my back, I turn around to look at him, ready to scowl, and when our eyes met, he smiles broadly, completely disabling my scowl. Bugger. He is nice. Actually he isn’t a bad looker for a boy. Don’t mistake lezza for man hater. I think men are beautiful and attractive, and brilliant as mates. Just not for me bed. He smiles at me, I smile back. And we alight the tube at the next stop.

On to the next tube and I have managed to successfully heave myself from one side of the station to the next. It's quite a feat as I have a guitar on my back, and a back pcak on my front, making me look like a weirdly deformed pregnant turtle. I am also dragging a wheelie case behind me. It has made for much mirth at the tube gates………..
Arriving finally at the next tube I’ve hurled myself in through the tube doors. Looking decidedly sweaty and a little flustered, I look up through the doors connecting the carriages and low and behold who do I see? There is backpack boy. We smile, and wave. We are alighting the tube he walks past and says jokingly, 'are you following me?' and I true to form, flatline this Little flower of communication By scoffing back ,'No' and off he scuttles. Poor lamb. You know I never mean to sound like ALL people annoy me. It just happens. I shouldn't be let out. I’m a walking hazard………

Also, it is very true what they say about people and reading on tubes. They do. In abundance. It's like a moving library. So many different reading choices.... (although I do spot 3 hornets nests....) And people WILL read in the most uncomfortable positions. Rammed up against other people, or squished against the side of the tube itself. Plus It's always a delight having an unknown ‘hardness’ pressing into you back just around the top of your buttocks………. The times that this has happened, I find an ‘accidental elbow’ rather does the trick. There is one other thing that is also true of tubes. Fucking hot as Satans BBQ.....

Northampton train a short while later....................

Right. I pretty much understand the 'Alpha male' pose. I sometimes do it myself if sat next to a lass. I'm quite tall so it's not uncommon for me to lay my arm along the back of the chair behind them. And then sit with one leg perched on my knee, or both out in front of me crossed at the ankles. However, currently I am sat opposite a guy, (who MUST think its still 1980, with his stone bleached tight jeans and long rocker hair) who is sat with his legs wiiiiiide apart. In fact they are so far apart I'm wondering if he's dislocated his pelvis. AND to add to this eye bleaching experience with the too tight jeans Mr crotch Shot is almost in jeopardy of revealing if he is circumcised or not due to said tightness of jeans. There is no need to sit like that, I doubt his balls were the size of foot balls. Letting yourself lolly gag about like that is a bit wrong in my book. Unfortunately with the amount of luggage I have barricaded around me, I too am giving a slight crotch shot of my own. Which he keeps looking at. Which is annoying. And I keep staring him down with that raised eyebrow of mine. However I think he thinks its a challenge. Should I tell him I'm a vegetarian? Perhaps not.
In fairness to Mr 1980's throwback he has some nice cherry blossom artwork on his left arm, it's got a bloody koi on it, but the work is nice. And he has an IPhone 4. Can't fight his way out the 1980's but owns an IPhone. (sounds a bit like a good friend of mine who can manage to drive from Scotland to Sunderland but failed to get out of the Morrison car park there...)

Mr Crotch's jeans really are too tight. He's just stood up. It was not a pleasant sight.

Thing is on journeys like this, I notice that we're all locked in our own little worlds. We are either plugged in, nose deep, eyes shut or like me, poking electronic devices with our fingers. We appear to have lost the ability to communicate beyond, 'sorry, excuse me, or ow'. Yet if someone does strike up a conversation with you, you immediately think ‘nutter’ and have an overwhelming urge to move far away from them. I however, often wonder what their listening to. The guy across from me is suited and booted, with normal shoes (not stupid pointy ones) but has little maroon laces in them. Little deviant. And I think he is listening to rock. There's a lot of drum crashing and hi-hat to be heard. Then there is a guy who I reckon is a salesman. Greying, and the largest gut I've seen in a while. It's a bit worrying actually, it looks like it could generate its own gravitational pull..... Ooo he just answered his phone. He's a Jock! Wonder if he gets lost in Morrisons carparks too.

People. We're strange beasts us. Constantly tangling ourselves up in knots over something. It's like we live our lives on a permanent Political party drive. It's a shame you know. Because really, for all our foibles, we’re a bit bloody marvellous…………..