Northern Line: Suspended
London Overground: Part Suspended
Good Service on all other lines.
I get into the middle carriage of the train at Brixton. The only other occupants are a middle aged man and a younger woman who sit together at the far end of my carriage. Like me, they had narrowly missed the previously tube. The man has grey hair slicked back with far too much gel. The sides are cut short, giving him rather a hipster/ rockabilly feel. This is accompanied by his stylish outfit. Slim fit jeans and faux snakeskin leather shoes. By contrast, the woman is rather plainly dressed; hair in a simply ponytail, little or no makeup. They make an interesting pair.
As we wait the carriage starts to fill up with Sunday travellers. A couple get on, drinking large Starbucks coffees. They look like they are off out for the day. Opposite me is a lady in her late thirties (though she looks more like she is in her forties). She eats a homemade cheese sandwich on brown bread. She has a banana and an apple in a clear plastic bag on her lap. Beside her is a bouquet of autumnally coloured flowers in an interflora bag. She guards them with her hand as the train shudders as we set off on our journey. The eventually has to move her flowers onto her lap as another coffee carrying couple take seats at Stockwell. They are young. The woman is in dungarees cut short while the man wears a brown check shirt opened low enough to see his white vest and hairy chest. He has a earring in his upper left ear. While the Interflora lady sits to their left, to their right is a tall man in jeans and a rain jacket. Even though we are inside, he still wears sunglasses.
By vauxhall the carriage is now so full that people have to stand.
The young couple opposite get of at Victoria, but nnot before they have an interesting discussion about the difference between "context" and "perspective".
A couple with a young son get on. They put the boy sitting on the ledge at the end of the carriage, where his legs swing freely as he enjoys the ride. The father wears a green bobble hat with SPORTIF on it. The mother carries a pillow is a ziplock carrier bag.
Standing in the centre is a man who I can only describe as a large, fat Eddie Izard rocker (no offence intended...simply an appropriate description). He appears a little worse for drink (even though it is only early afternoon) and struggles to stay upright. He wears a pair of platform leather boots and a metallica t-shirt. His hair is obviously a dyed orange. He exits along with a large group of passengers at Oxford Circus.
Even though the carriage has emptied a bit, and there is a sit next to me, the man that now stands in the aisle in front of me does not sit down. He stands with his arms up, hands holding onto the parallel handrails that run down the carriage.
In the corner, beside the woman with the flowers, sits a well dressed African woman. She is dressed in a black dress with a black fur resting on her knees. In contrast to the dark clothes, she is wearing a baby pink sun hat with a ribbon on it and matching high heel shoes. Beside her shoes is a silver paper gift bag. She is obviously doing somewhere special.
At the far end of this bank of seats a man fights dozing off against the glass divider. A red packet of cigarettes pokes out of the breast pocket of his top.
A middle aged couple sit in the priority area to my left; surveying the people on the platforms as the train moves away from Highbury and Islington. Though they are obviously together, they neither look at each other nor make any attempt to converse with one another.
At Finsbury Park a woman with a fleece jumper that says MITIE on it races from the other platform and jumpsonto the train. Underneath her fleece she has a shirt and tie. She is either on her way to work or on her way home. As she sits down I can see on her phone that she is midway through a level on Candy Crush. As soon as she sits down she becomes engrossed in it again.
The woman now beside me chews chewing gum and I can smell the mint flavour in the air; it wafts through the stale recycled air of the carriage like the smoke from an incense candle.
A father with twin buggies now occupies the seats vacated by the middle aged couple. Both Interflora woman and baby pink woman leave the train at Tottenham Hale. Interflora woman has traveled all the way from Brixton.
Walthamstow Central I quickly change to the other platform to make my return journey. The carriage smells like pasties and makes me hungry. I have the carriage to myself just until the doors are about to close, when a man hops on and sits at the far end.
More people get on at Black Horse Road. A child with bright yellow wellies plays with a bag of cars given to him by his parents. But his fun is shortlived as they get off at the next stop (Tottenham Hale). The driver reminds the passengers that there is no interchange access to National Rail Services. Passengers for National Rail should stay on until Seven Sisters.
An elderly man sits opposite me. He holds firmly onto his small suitcase but part of me wonders if he is supporting it or is it supporting him. He gingerly gets off the train at Seven Sisters.
A Spanish man and his girlfriend sit beside me. He is wearing bright royal blue trousers that can't help draw attention in a carriage filled with muted colours. His girlfriend twists on her seat so she can face him as they talk. He sits firmly straight on, occasionally Turing his head to look at her.
A woman gets on at Finsbury park; sunglasses still on. Unlike the earlier man, it looks likes there is a reason for her to keep them on; she is hungover and the light is hurting her eyes. She is cautious as she walks and rest her head against the glass partition.
The man to one side of me reads a book while to the other side, the man plays a tennis game on his phone. Standing by the door, a man checks himself in his iPhone camera, his head moving from one side to the other as his eyes survey the image.
At Kings Cross St. Pancreas, the train stops abruptly as it tries to leave. The driver asks passengers to make sure there are no bags obstructing the doors. Finally we move off.
At Euston, the train is filled with passengers and their suitcases. A couple cuddle at the door, the guy behind the girl with his arms wrapped Around her waist. It's a simple but rare romantic display on the tube. The romance ends when a spare seat becomes available and the girl rushes to sit down; leaving the boyfriend still standing. She smiles at him reassuringly.
A woman with dyed blond hair styled into a ponytail sits close by me. She puts a hairband on to move the hair from her face. There hair band sits right at a strange line across her hair, where her natural hair colour and her blond hair meet.
Rather than go all the way back to Brixton, I get off at Stockwell; having been to north London and back without seeing daylight but seeing a lot of interesting people.
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