I think I have hit upon the answer to commuting. This morning James and I 
happened to coincide on the Central Line. As usual there were delays, something 
about track problems further in towards the city, and as we waited the platform 
started to overflowl with people. Oh joy. Barely any week goes by where there is not 
some kind of issue, and indeed some weeks there are more problematic days than 
smooth days. Even on a day with no problems it is an absolute crush at peak 
time, so this morning I looked forward even by Central Line standards to a particularly cramped journey. 
A 
train duly arrived and James and I somehow managed to squeeze on, but in the 
scrum we ended up with a lady between us. It was awful, no room to move, I 
couldn’t even wriggle to take my coat off and of course the train then didn’t move. Ugh. Still, 
this was no reason not to continue our conversation, which naturally was about 
birds. “Have you seen Wallcreeper?” James asked. “No, dipped it twice in Les 
Baux. Is it at your place in France?” I replied. “No, but close by.” We 
continued to be held in the platform, and so dialogue continued back and forth, 
whether it was year round or just in winter, what a great bird it was and so on, 
when suddenly the lady bolted for the doors leaving behind a much-needed gap 
that we could all take advantage of. But what had prompted this? Surely she had 
needed to get to work too? The answer is simple. Middle-aged men talking about 
birds is simply intolerably boring and normal people cannot cope with more than 
about 30 seconds.. James and I are so mind-numbingly dull that the lady had no 
choice but to get out before she died. 
What a fantastic discovery! Being a 
birder makes it possible to be so tediously uninteresting that fellow commuters are forced to change carriages.  And as I remarked to James, even if we rarely 
meet on the commute this strategy ought to be even more effective when 
travelling alone. Especially for James as he has a beard to mumble into. We just have to 
remember not to talk to any TfL staff, and particularly not the driver.
Plants are even more boring, just start rattling off some Latin names and talk about compost and you'll have the carriage to yourself in no time!
ReplyDeleteGood shout Chris..... wait a minute, plants are NOT boring!
Delete