trolley life

Somehow hundreds of us had to get on a train that was already standing room only. We assumed the stampede position - eyes down, feet together, elbows out - and oozed forward, pushing, shuffling, jostling and finally leaping

It is one of my rules in life to never, ever be in a position where I have anything to do with miniature bottles of booze. The reason for this is simple: people who drink them are strange. I know this because, like every other commuter, I have developed a swivel eye ability that allows me to watch my neighbour while appearing to read my newspaper. And, over the years, I have watched a lot of neighbours secrete a lot of little bottles. My rule also means I shall never make it my job to push a trolley and therefore will never have to wear a uniform originally devised for a Gilbert and Sullivan performance.

All of this comes to mind because of the 20:07 from London Bridge. For regular travellers in the South-east, I hardly need add that the train was late, the platform crowded, the mobile phones frantic. Then the train showed up minus eight carriages. (but no looking as no eye contact is allowed until you are inside). When I got on, I did look up but wished I hadn't, for before me, in the guard's cage, was a trolley - and a scene that Hogarth would have appreciated. "Piss off Brian," crowed a figure slumped against a wall. "Ohhhhh, shut up Elaine!" a man shouted back. The crowd reacted to all of this as if it were a Punch and Judy performance. At one point I thought I heard the train door open. "Don't tell anyone!" shrieked a man, "or they'll stop the train and say we are defective!" More screams of laughter.

"I think someone has had an early Christmas do," said a voice below me. I looked down (he was short) and took in the fact that the man on the other side of him had his head in his hands. Such misery! And all because of the trolley. Or so I told myself as I watched the party, eyes a-swivel. The trolley itself was clearly awol: neither Gilbert or Sullivan were to be seen. Could it get worse? The answer came when one man decided to go to the loo but only got as far as trapping me inside his arms. "Can you believe this!" said Mr Arms. "There would be an outcry if animals were treated this way," he snorted. But that is the kind of thing that a miniature bottle man would say, wouldn't he?