London's underground railway system is unfairly maligned. It gets us around the metropolis swiftly. I have grown to enjoy the way we sit cocooned behind our papers as we ride the subterranean superhighway. Last summer I had the misfortune to be harangued by a Yorkshireman who felt unnerved by our quiet commuting experience ...
Northerner On The Tube
“Aint it foonny how nobody talks in carriage”
He brays to his wife, imprisoned by marriage,
He’s lecturing us all on what London lacks,
Puffed up in anorak and easy-fit slacks,
“Anti-social I call it, now why don’t they chat?”
Unaware of the joy of a good paperback,
The quality of peace in a crowded train,
The newspaper rustling, that tubetime refrain,
Oyster in palm, defining our zone,
Multinational urbanites chugging home,
“Y’see it costs nowt to natter to your neighbour,”
He drones again to our tranquil travel chamber.
Please leave us alone to our tablets and pods,
Our modern devices, the technology of the Gods,
Yes, Go back up North, set your vocal dial to Loud,
Leave us Metrosexuals, - serene, commuting and proud!