London Underground

I was interested to see today, news of a London Underground driver who drove his train the wrong way up the track, almost resulting in a head on collision with another train. We are always reading some news or other about London Underground – most of it bad. There are loads of irritating things about London Underground; the morbid heat, the way you are packed onto trains like an eat-as-much-as-you-like dinner plate, the mad people that always seem to sit next to you, bone crippling prices, worry of strikes, bombs and stupid drivers that don’t know their left from their right.

Nevertheless, there are aspects of London Underground that are great. It is a perfect setting in which to read and I love how I have the overwhelming sense of being alone in my mind, whilst being surrounded by dozens of strangers of all religions, cultures, passions and opinions. I like to observe on the underground. I like to people watch and ask questions like – who is he? What is her job? Why is she wearing that? Why is he so miserable? I make up the answers in my head, which is fun. It’s also the ideal place to listen in on people’s conversations. Most are moaning or looking forward to the weekend or a holiday, others are talking in dialects, which I don’t understand, but I am more intrigued by these folks than I am of those who speak in my own tongue.

I do a lot of writing on the underground. I find it inspiring. I have random thoughts and ideas for novels or poems, sometimes I can’t contain myself and I begin writing then and there. I never get on a train without a pen and pad – it’s like going on a treasure hunt without a spade to dig up the jewels that you might discover.

Perhaps one of the most interesting things about train journeys for me is looking out the windows – something most people never do. I recently spent a whole journey peering out of the window, ignoring my friend and jotting down my discoveries; secret staircases, run down factories, hidden alleyways, little pieces of life forgotten, with so many stories to tell. People think I’m mad, but I don’t care because I could be doing what most do on the underground, I could be staring into space and wishing I wasn’t there – what a waste of time that would be! I do empathise though, not everyone has the creative curiosity as I do, and I’m sure if I were them I’d be moaning to myself too.

However, I can’t help wondering how many people do this beyond their train journeys. How many people walk around in London with their eyes metaphorically shut? How many people’s eyes are clouded so much by negativity that they have forgotten to look for treasure? I hope not many, but I suspect otherwise.