It is a truth universally acknowledged that the moment you step on the tube in London, you enter another world. A world where manners do not exist. Come to that, where time does not exist either. The journey from St James’ Park to Westminster takes roughly the same amount of time as the Mesozoic era, and yet most of us do nothing but stare at the advert for life insurance opposite us for the best part of our voyage.
This is not to say that tube journeys are a waste of time. Not only are they a considerably more effective way of getting from A to B than cabs or buses (I am sure you are all well acquainted with London traffic), but they also give you the option to view C, D, E, F, G and H as well. At almost every stop, a disembodied voice kindly points out the best features of that locale. Whether it is the British Library or the V&A, I will be immediately notified of it at the appropriate stop.
However, even I will admit that the destinations listed on the announcements are sadly lacking in practicality. Take the example of myself and my journey to Steel House each morning. I would dearly like to be informed that I ought to “alight here for Harris Westminster Sixth Form” but, alas, I am told that Buckingham Palace is my destination. Now, this information wouldn’t be unhelpful if I had to visit the Queen every morning but, as one of many people who have other things on their agenda than checking up on the Royal family, this is almost entirely useless for me.
This is not an unusual feature of Transport for London. Everything seems to have very little actual use. Why must every line have different interior schemes in their cars? Some tubes offer little privacy, forcing you to make eye contact with those opposite you, whereas others trap you in tiny booths with strangers of dubious personal hygiene. Sometimes there are armrests, sometimes there are not. Sometimes there is a bar overhead and sometimes there are little nooses hanging down. Why the variation? Is it so that each commuter gets their own unique version of hell in the morning? Are TFL holding a spot-the-difference challenge?
That is undoubtedly the same reasoning behind the treacherous gap between the train and the platform. “The Gap” is a very peculiar piece of engineering. Its general function seems to be a combination of terrifying small children senseless, adding a little more difficulty into the lives of wielders of prams or wheelchairs, and enabling over three million “Mind The Gap” t-shirts to be sold to tourists who think they’re witty. Indeed, it could be argued that the fault in the design of the London Underground was, in fact, a major marketing ploy by TFL in order to add to their scanty funds.
Well, I say scanty funds. With the prices of peak time tickets in London, there should be no need for transport-themed lunch boxes. From my own observational studies, there seems to be an additional subclause that states that tube prices seem to immediately increase to slightly more than however much is currently on your zip card whenever you a) have somewhere you urgently need to be or b) are having a rotten day and just want to go home without having to fight the queue at the ticket machines.
Ah! But see, I digress. Such is the power of the Tube. I began with the firm intention of writing a serious critical essay on Parade’s End but instead found myself falling down a rabbit hole of the (seemingly non-existent) logic behind TFL. Why?
Because I, like the vast majority of people, enjoy grumbling. I am everyday inconvenienced by TFL and it annoys me. This is not, in itself, a bad thing. However, when a small
frustration grows to such proportions that one writes an entire essay based on the subject, an issue arises.
If you fill your time with petty worries and bitter grudges, you leave little time for joy, for beauty, for kindness. Naturally, I am in no way saying that everyone ought to be carefree and happy-go-lucky all the time; I am merely suggesting that perhaps the tiny grievances ought to be left tiny.
And so, in the spirit of letting the small things go, I clearly state now for all the world to see that I shall never complain about the Tube again.
Or at least, not so much.
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