With a recent trip to the Big Smoke under my belt, I realised that whilst it’s a necessity, I really do hate the London Underground with a passion. Here’s why:
If it’s not McDonalds/KFC/Burger King it’s the stale alcohol from the drunk guy sat in the corner, only masked by the stronger scent of his BO and urine. And let’s not forget the farts. OH. MY. GOD. You can all smell it and you’re all subtly looking around trying to work out who the culprit is but all you really care about is just how offensive the smell is. You look at a woman in a suit and think ‘you’re too classy to be this smelly’ but you damn well know it’s her and you’re trapped; you have no choice but to burn your nostrils as you breath until you get off the train by which point you’re ready to either pass out or throw up. Disgusting.
One minute you’re walking into the station with a huge jacket, gloves, hat and scarf on unable to feel any extremities because you’re so cold and the next thing you’re taking your clothes off quicker than Tiger Woods could get his 9iron out of his pants it’s so hot. The gusts of wind aren’t fun either and I’m not referring to the farts I mentioned earlier but the huge blows of wind you get when a train flies passed. Depending on how hot or cold you are you’ll either be thankful or hateful of the wind tunnels but you’re never going to reach a happy medium I’m afraid.
I’m pretty sure that the reason the London Underground is called ‘public transport’ is because it’s supposed to do the transportation bit for you. And yet, by the time you’ve entered/exited the station, tackled the escalators and changed lines, you’ve probably walked a couple of miles yourself. I’m tempted to ask for a discount on my fare. How women do this in heels I just don’t know.
If you can get prime standing space then you’re lucky but if you can get a seat then you’ve just won the lottery though you’ll probably be sat with a penis in your face the entire time. Though standing with your face shoved in a guys armpit isn’t much better either. Meh, you lose some and you lose some more. And that’s all if you even get on to the train in the first place because let’s face it, it’s a struggle just to get on the damn thing in rush hour or when you’re passing through a station where there’s a sporting event such as Wimbledon or a Chelsea football match. Oh and that’s all whilst bypassing the tourists that haven’t pre-planned the journey and just stop in the middle of the ‘through traffic’ looking gaumlessly at each other wondering what they hell they’re doing.
You can all hear them but just what in the hell are they staying? It’s ‘meh nom nom nom swhincppoijwef Shepherd’s Bush blah blah hipoadeolniqe’ and suddenly panic sets in. ‘What about Shepherd’s Bush?’ ‘Is there a problem with the line?’ ‘Is the station closed’ TELLLLL MEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!! Of course, this panic only sets in internally, outwardly you’re still trying to work out who stunk up the carriage.
You can stare it for as long as you like but unless you live in London and you know your route, the map is just going to look like someone threw up a bag of Skittles. And that’s even before you have to try and work out which stations connect to each other and which colour you need to take before jumping on to another colour. I swear, by the time you’ve done your route and got to your destination, you’ve been on more colours than a a Picasso painting could make.
Have I missed anything out? Why do YOU hate the London Underground?