(Yui Mok/PA)
(Picture: PA Archive)There’s a very good chance that you’re reading this on the bus, tram or Tube at this exact moment.
And if you are, I must ask — did you observe the unspoken rules of public transport etiquette? I say this because ever since summer ended and our transport system swelled again with worker ants, it seems large swathes of the Tube-travelling population appear to be suffering from collective amnesia where basic manners are concerned.
Perhaps it’s a knock-on effect from whittled down in-office days that some have forgotten how to behave like a normal human being; maybe others are (inadvisably) taking the slow life embraced in lockdown onto the platform, but these days every journey only further reinforces Jean-Paul Sartre’s famous saying.
So, in an attempt to restore some sense, I’ll lay out the new rules for using the Underground.
Luggage is necessary, but for the love of God, take off your backpack and stick it between your feet where anyone with functioning frontal lobes can see there’s acres of space. This is better than pummelling fellow passengers with offensively bulky luggage and then having the gall to give us a pass-agg stare.
If you find yourself standing by the doors when a rush hour train stops, don’t be afraid to momentarily step onto the platform instead of clinging to the side like a windsock in a gale-force storm. The benefits are many: you’ll be the first one back on, and more importantly, no one will silently curse you and preceding generations of your family.
Another do: look lively. You’ve been sitting with the tension of a coiled spring for your stop, yet when it shudders into view, it’s as though you’ve been roused from a decades-long coma, startled and unfeasibly slow. Kingdoms rise and fall in the time it takes to get off the carriage.
Recently, the worst, most vein-throbbing act, more irksome even than full body pole-leaning, doggedly averting the gaze of upright pregnant passengers, or playing tinny music from your phone (the headline set absolutely no one asked for), are the rush-hour platform dawdlers.
These are the ones stepping aboard the train, milling at the entrance, gazing around the carriage like it’s the British Museum, having completely forgotten there’s a crowd behind them who would quite like to get on board too, actually. The Bakerloo line may look like a relic that time — and TfL — forgot, but it’s no Tutankhamun’s tomb. There are no treasures to marvel at here, just people who have pushed their Uber fund to the limit. It’s time for action; dig deep, breathe in, and move the heck down for all our sakes. We will be endlessly grateful.
Given the aggro of the commute, is it any wonder most of us prefer the serenity of WFH? Not only is there no Oyster to top up (I still don’t trust contactless), barriers to tap, or strike action to dodge, but it’s one that can be done in your pyjamas while munching hot toast. Zero etiquette required.
In other news...
It’s the moment Phil and Holly have been praying for: the heat of public scorn has finally shifted to another morning show host. This time it’s Lorraine Kelly in the firing line after saying Madonna’s latest appears to be inspired by a “boiled egg”.
While I’m inclined to agree that it’s not exactly the most beguiling look — pink hair over taut, waxy skin and eyebrows bleached into oblivion, all working to suggest a bloodline to Marilyn Manson — she hasn’t earned the title of queen of reinvention for nothing. Given her style CV, did anyone ever expect the OG Material Girl to grow old gracefully?
Let her inject what she likes into her face; it’s her skin, her choice. But if she could abstain from ill-advised TikTok trends that determine sexuality by how efficiently one can fling a pair of knickers into the nearest bin, we’ll all be more grateful for it.
