Thursday, 22 March 2012


See, two years ago things were way different for me. Different place, different cities. I was always driving from A to B. I knew a lot about my origin or destination points but little about the trip. My only chance of exploring point B appeared everytime I had difficulties to park at my destination. It's in those occasions when you get to know a new road, a new shop, or even a new area if you get really lost. I was good with orientation, but was knowledge was pretty much road and motorway engineering. Trips were normally short. I had time to sing out loud on my car. My car it was everything.

I don't get the chance to sing now. I could, but the unwritten law of respect for fellow passengers is something that I strictly try to comply with. My shoes get abnormally worn out these days. I keep finding myself going shopping for shoes, as a need. Walking is my main task of the day. Necessity or pleasure.

Walk or sit down for long. Standing besides the doors of the carriage. A lot of empty time that now I need to cover with a productive solution. The solution was quite straightforward. Empty time = time to think. Time to observe. Time to evaluate. And eventhough I have just classified this time as empty, it is precious, and essential, and I really value to have it back with me a couple of hours during the day.

Empty time leads you to observation. I have always been quite nosy, just for pure curiosity. And it is sitting down observing on a train when you realise how equal we are all of us. London Underground specially, I think is one of the most democratic place of all. I am not sure if democratic is the correct word, but will leave it on the mean time. This tube is where at 6 in the morning, workers, commoners like me, hipsters, early-bird tourists and high-end bankers or managers of the City get canned on a crowded Victoria Line carriage.

You find yourself sitting down on those moquete seats that I absolute hate. We all hate them. But expensive crisp suits and grotty paint-splashed trackies sit side by side without making a conversation. They probably both read Metro. They both probably have an iPhone. One lives in Highbury and the other in Wood Green.

You get the same situation on trains. Me sitting down in front of two big-fishes from a high-end pharmaceutical or law firm, closing a multimillion deal while I tweet on my 20 pounds a month contract Blackberry.

But the part I love the most about suits is observing how the tenderly fall asleep with the gentle movement of the train. They close their eyes and their heads slowly fall down in an awkward position, that after waking up will give them neck pain for the rest of the day. Then they start to dribble. Like I do. I love it. Even the most scaring suited up big boss dribbles. Defenceless. Powerless for 20 minutes.

I observe it. I read my Metro and I look at then half smilling. They are like me. I open my yogurt.

So do them.

But that's another story.

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