Sunday Morning
0655: the first Central Line train from White City. It's come straight from the depot, so the only people really on it have come straight from night shifts at the BBC. By the time we get to Lancaster Gate, it's starting to fill with tourists - like the Italian family who, judging by the amount of luggage they've got with them, are on their way to an airport. But they still haven't got the hang of not falling over when the train moves off.
But their unbalancedness is no match for the waster who gets on at Bond Street. His first problem is aligning himself with the door, and he nearly walks into the side of the train. The next attempt is only slightly more succesful: he steps onto the threshold of the train, but it's obviously too much effort to take another step forward, so he stumbles back down onto the platform. Third time lucky, he gets onto the train, and nearly makes it onto a seat - but just as he's trying to sit, the train moves off. He performs a manoeuvre which can only be described as "arse over tit" - somehow pivoting over the person sitting next to him, he lands on his head in the aisle.
I couldn't quite tell if he was just plain drunk, or on something stonger. As he was sprawled on the floor, a few kind souls stood up to help him up. But he seemed quite happy where he was, so he stayed there, and travelled a couple of stops sat on the floor grinning to himself. Eventually he manages to make it back to the seat, and almost immediately starts to doze.
His time on the floor also seemed to have relieved himself of a few quid - so one of the Italians gathers up the coins, and hands it back to the drunkard. His face breaks out into an even bigger grin - not only is he pissed and on the tube, but some stranger's just given him some money! What more could you want?
I changed trains at Holborn. I'm guessing the Italians got off at Liverpool Street. The drunk guy probably got woken up by a cleaner an hour later at the end of the line at Hainault.
But their unbalancedness is no match for the waster who gets on at Bond Street. His first problem is aligning himself with the door, and he nearly walks into the side of the train. The next attempt is only slightly more succesful: he steps onto the threshold of the train, but it's obviously too much effort to take another step forward, so he stumbles back down onto the platform. Third time lucky, he gets onto the train, and nearly makes it onto a seat - but just as he's trying to sit, the train moves off. He performs a manoeuvre which can only be described as "arse over tit" - somehow pivoting over the person sitting next to him, he lands on his head in the aisle.
I couldn't quite tell if he was just plain drunk, or on something stonger. As he was sprawled on the floor, a few kind souls stood up to help him up. But he seemed quite happy where he was, so he stayed there, and travelled a couple of stops sat on the floor grinning to himself. Eventually he manages to make it back to the seat, and almost immediately starts to doze.
His time on the floor also seemed to have relieved himself of a few quid - so one of the Italians gathers up the coins, and hands it back to the drunkard. His face breaks out into an even bigger grin - not only is he pissed and on the tube, but some stranger's just given him some money! What more could you want?
I changed trains at Holborn. I'm guessing the Italians got off at Liverpool Street. The drunk guy probably got woken up by a cleaner an hour later at the end of the line at Hainault.