Figure 1. Eight Points on the dismount London Lemmings!
1. 1. The hula-hoop
Take all notions of the personal-space-box “hula-hoop” and discard them as this is not the country to have these issues. Personal space is merely a figment of your imagination and is frowned upon in London land. Upon climbing onto the tube (or in fact entering into any London airspace) you are too discard your personal space hula-hoop as throngs of London Lemmings pile into your space and not only breathe every imaginable, highly contagious germ onto you but spread their sweaty, panicked aroma through your peaceful and fuity-scented aura. Thankfully I don’t have space issues… Oh. Wait. I DO!!!!!!!!
In order to combat said space invaders, I have debated carrying an extendable baton with a voltage charge on the end to extend and zap the little buggers! Either that or walking around with a huge sign that says: “I am a carrier of the Ebola Virus. Please keep your distance.”
2. 2. Public transport
Germ phobias… What germ phobias? Again this is a concept to be discarded at Heathrow airport upon your arrival. Piling onto an overcrowded public transport mode is par for the course. As the desire of the bloody British to insist on having the heater on and the windows closed at all times! As one grasps onto a grimey, filthy pole, seat or handle I can just feel the germs diffusing into my body. Particularly in rush hour when the said grasping apparatus are warm and gooey with the sweat and god-knows-what of the crowds of London Lemmings.
I have given in to the eventual acknowledgement that my chances of catching the SARS virus, Bird Flu, Swine Flu, Flu, TB, Ebola, Flesh eating bacteria, Septicemia and one of the innumerable highly contagious diseases are very high and I must now stop trying to prevent by emptying tins of wet wipes and bottles of hand sanitizer onto me daily and stock up on medications and health care scheme to deal with the treatment once the inevitable happens.
To further add to this germtastrophe that is London public transport is the lack of open windows. Stuck in a (heated) tube in a tunnel – air is bloody scarce to start with for crying in a bucket – we all must sit with no windows open. The same goes for buses, trains and taxis. And don’t get me started on the shops where it is like shopping in a sauna… A strategic move really. As one gets more and more uncomfortable and loses dangerous amounts of bodily fluid through sweating, ones shopping decisions become more and more rash and impulsive. In fact, one even resorts to merely buying the first item on the rack without even trying it on! Leads to much buyer’s remorse. None that I have experienced just yet as I look fabulous in everything!
3. 3. Claustrophobia
Refer to the above points and PANIC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And now, for the crux of London Life – being a London Lemming!
London lemmings
In order to survive in this super fast paced lifestyle, one must become a London Lemming. This entails losing all ability to direct oneself or make independent decisions whilst in a crowd or travel situation. I in fact have fallen prey to this situation a number of times whilst offloading out of a tube germ capsule and been swept up in the crowds of London Lemmings throbbing their way through the underground caverns and ended up on the wrong platform which only resulted in me taking a full 10 minute hike back down to the correct tube platform! But the funniest activity I have come across is to watch these fascinating creatures as they herd themselves around the public transport maze that is London. Often times they have no idea what they are doing and just follow each other. I have no doubt that more often than they’d like to admit they end up in east Scotland or (heaven forbid) Wales just by mindlessly droning on to the wrong tube and ending up where they had no intention of ever being.
Apart from lemming-looking, a significantly fun thing to do that makes me giggle and snort hysterically is when one descends the steps of a station in desire to board a tube. As one lowers themselves into the caverns of the underground, there is generally a notice board with times till the next tube leaves placed in a far corner of the station. It is oodles of fun to take note that the tube only leaves in 5 minutes time and, from the back of a substantial group of London Lemmings, sprint myself through the middle of them, bag and ipod flailing behind me and launch myself down the stairs in an overtly desperate effort to make the tube on time. Once settled, I watch the ensuing pandemonium that erupts amongst the gaggle of London Lemmings. Usain Bolt and Caster Semenya have nothing on how rapidly these lemmings can cover ground. As the misguided panic sets in that the tube is leaving immediately, hilarious panic ensues. Grannies hoist up their Zimmer frames and use them to plough callously through the crowd. Every pensioner for themselves! Women in their designer heels (that launch them into the stratosphere they are so high) leap flights of stairs in a single Jimmy Choo-ed bound and stride across platforms, hurdling the hustling grannies and legging themselves into the nearest carriage with speed that would leave Caster and Usain gagging for it. Men have been seen to extend themselves, tie swishing behind and coat tails flapping like a loose lettuce, using their briefcases to bash small children to the floor in their desperate attempt to hurl themselves into the apparently imminently departing tube capsule of claustrophobia. As these London Lemmings, once settled in the tube, gasp for air after their extremely panicked scramble with sweat slowly dripping of their immaculately styled bodies, the guilt begins to set in as they recall the small children and pensioners they left for dead behind and the looks of embarrassment begin to show as the tube remains stationary for at least another 4 minutes! All this whilst I giggle into my ipod at the results of mass hysteria.
Figure 2. Seat of the Queen
For now though, I am in love with London Life! It is thoroughly enthralling and makes me feel alive!
On the goldfish front, I have been keeping my lettuce chaste and pure. There was the one French-English lad from Brixton who I was cheekily snogging on Ios during my Greek Island adventure. But, despite him asking me to call him and saying he was excited to meet up in London, he never responded to my voicemail or SMS (I make it sound like I only left one of each… I didn’t…) and thus, is an asshole! But it is ok, I am in no way phased. Britain is an untainted village just ripe to be pillaged!
BAM!
No comments:
Post a Comment