Now in actual fact this post was started a few hours ago on the tube, which is why it counts as ‘Tube Tales’ and not just a regular evening post. The problem was that I got to Wimbledon before I finished it… so here is the entry that should have been posted around 5.30pm today.

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Today I’m sitting on the tube on my way home and regretting the fact that I have my sense of smell back (thanks to some marvellously strong anti-histamines)because I swear that there is a horse or some kind of farm animal on this carriage.

[Later note – it turned out that there was in fact a lady sitting next to me that was eating some horrid looking foul smelling lump of whatever that I’m sure was very healthy but honestly should such a stinky thing actually be allowed near your mouth. Man, I can smell it even now…]

So I disembarked from the Piccadilly Line – eternal home of the over packed suitcases and very tired jet-lagged person who honestly really should NOT have to travel on the tube in rush hour. Anyway, the point is that this is a busy line.

There was a Little Old Dear standing on the platform looking really small and frail which was highlighted by the fact that she seemed to be surrounded by young whippersnappers. The look on her face as we pulled up was probably similar to the look on my face most mornings when I leave my house; slightly anxious with a dash of ‘why am i here and what was i thinking leaving my bed this morning’ mixed in.

Now for anyone not familiar with Tube rush hour etiquette, the basic rule is that you let the people off the tube first. Only once they have successfully made an exit while minding the gap are you free to ram yourself into the carriage. Elbows out is generally the way lest you find yourself at the mercy of another persons elbow, bag or briefcase…

The Little Old Dear clearly didn’t know any of this and innocently tried to get on to the carriage as soon as the tube stopped. Unfortunately for her she was about to encounter a rather portly, very moody and clearly vexed lady who at the top of her voice squealed, “Yer suppose ta let people get OFF first” and knocked the Little Old Dear clear off her feet and into a whippersnapper. Thankfully whippersnapper was quick off the mark, catching her in style, preventing a nasty incident from being a lot worse (had it been me, I would’ve frozen, watched her fall and then reacted in a Bridget Jones kinda way, ah well we can’t all be heroes).

The story kinda ends well as the collective population are generally a good bunch and Little Old Dear was helped on to the carriage and fawned and fussed over and all was right once more.

I then went up to go and catch my one train that gets me home on time to fetch my little fella from after-school club. Now I do this journey daily and therefore know that there is no point rushing for this connection, there is a few minutes gap between tubes and nothing I have ever done has been able to get me home any quicker. So I take it easy and stroll up the escalators while everybody frantically runs past me. Rookies.

I got up to the platform and had to smile as I saw portly vexed lady frustratedly waiting on the platform. Brilliantly as I arrived my tube was pulling in to the station. The timing was almost poetic. Without breaking stride I calmly walked past the rude portly Little Old Dear bully, stepped on to the tube with moves worthy of a Broadway musical and smoothly took the last remaining seat thus leaving her standing less than 2 feet away from me the whole way home. Wonderfully this turned out to be all the way to the end of the line.

That one was for you Little Old Dear.