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I love a good Tube-Nutter.

So long as they don’t look at, talk to, or attempt to touch me.
Nothing breaks up a journey like small explosions of crazy.

There’s a fun website called TubeCrush.Net where people post pictures of hotties they’ve perved on the Northern Line. But so far there’s no where you can make known the absolute headcases you’ve endured on the train.

This is distressing, as there’s just so many out there that need to be discussed.

I encountered My Three Favourite Tube Nutters Of All Time, on the same line: The Metropolitan Line.

The Met Line is probably my favourite line in the world. So much better than the equator or the tropic of Capricorn!

I adore The Met Line – It’s never busy, so you don’t have to pretend you’re pregnant to get a seat. And it’s mostly above ground, so it’s about as scenic as TFL will grant: a genuine poor man’s Orient Express, with just as many murders. Who needs the Swiss Alps out the window when you’ve got the glorious Neasden depot? Screw Venice, this bitch goes to Uxbridge!

But most importantly of all: The Met Line draws crazies like Picasso did. It’s nothing but a sea of surreal eyes-where-feet-should-be and dogs on roller-skates. It’s a veritable dick parade.

My Favourite Ever Tube Nutter got on The Met Line at Harrow-On-The-Hill, flanked by two small South-Asian carers who didn’t speak much English. This dude was massive; A proper gargantuan beast of a bloke, about 6 foot 5 in height and at least 25 stone of pasty white man.

There was clearly something not 100% right with the poor fellow. And if this wasn’t established by his strange attire and crazy amble? It definitely became obvious when his duo of carers shunted two business men from their chairs with the old adage: “Excoooose me! Can he have your seats? He have something wrong with him. He might bite people!”

That shifted the buggers. Nothing will move the masses like the reminder that strangers have teeth.

So, Massive Boy sits down. And within a few moments? He’s started making noises. SEX NOISES.

Loud, inescapable bestial groans are echoing through the carriage, at 9:30 am. And I’m sat there with my fist in my mouth to stop myself from laughing out loud, thus rendering me a vile person, pre-destined for hell. Everyone else was being very English and pretending it wasn’t happening. But I am NOT English. I’m beguiled with feisty Celtic blood, which causes me to do all manner of things I’m not supposed to… Like burst out in fits of giggles on crowded trains.

I have since seen The Massive Boy Who Makes Sex Noises On The Train twice more. He has no idea how he brightens up my day, or how I admire his free-spirit.

My Second Favourite Tube Nutter Ever was a mixed-race guy who’d mistaken his ankles for his waist, and worn his jeans accordingly. He got on at Finchley Road and seemed to enjoy walking up and down the train, providing a running commentary of all that he saw. Being lazy, I much appreciated this, as I find that looking at things myself is often just too much hard-work – It’s nice to have somebody look at things for you so you don’t have to bother.

He came into the carriage from the door at the back-end and made his presence known by announcing: “This carriage is full of White People. Therefore Racists. I can see a BLONDE woman.” Before stalking out of the door at the front-end.

Less than 5 minutes later, he was back again. Emerging this time from the door he’d earlier departed, he shouted: “We are are at Harrow On The Hill,” as if we didn’t know. “I was born here. This makes me Middle Class.” He continued, but nobody was responding to him. So he shouted “I am very eloquent! I can say Harrow On The Hill very well!” He then shouted Harrow-On-The-Hill five times to prove that he could. Before disappearing out of the door at the opposite end again.

Of course he came back for more. They always do. This time it was to pick a fight with a woman he’d announced was fat AND racist. I’m not sure what happened to him after that night. I like to imagine he ran for Parliament, and now puts his articulation to use for the common good of man.

Lastly, comes my Third Favourite Ever Tube Nutter: the woman I saw enjoying a cigar while lying down across the seats in-between Wembley Park and Baker Street. It was a Sunday afternoon, and she didn’t give a shit! Hell no. She just lit up, laid down, and … fell asleep! Asleep on the Met Line with a lit cigar in her hands – it was like something from a Fitzgerald novel; I’ve never seen such decadence! Neither have I ever been so jealous.

I’m hoping there will be more Tube Nutters joining my Favourites List shortly. Else I shall stop topping up my Oyster in disgust.

One Reply to “Mind the crazy: The London Tube”

  1. Oh you are funny! You know, I really appreciate funny writing! Humor is the hardest thing to write, I think. You do a grand job! Looking forward to more of your stuff, I just followed your blog! ~ Sheila


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