Exhibit 2

It would appear that this blog, sporadic as it is, will be turning into a kind of 'Face and Shame' (rather than name-and-shame) project for all the ignorant persons out there on the London Underground.

So.

Last night, after attending a particularly excellent recording of The Now Show (that's 6.30pm, tonight on Radio 4, should you dare to miss it), we embarked on out journey home. Now, the Piccadilly Line isn't usually too crowded on a weeknight, but last night was an exception (someone must have farted on the line at Oakwood or something). As we boarded the train to make our journey west, I began to have my usual seatless-carriage panic at being torn between asking for a seat and feeling crushingly humiliated, or standing and risking the chance of doing an impression of the Wright Brothers without a plane again. M'colleague was in belligerent mood (to be fair, this is not uncommon*) and started telling people to move as there was a disabled person who needed a seat. That was when we had the great fortune to run into this fascinating character:

 After m'colleague had twice asked people to move, and even after a total stranger had also asked on my behalf (for which I am, of course, grateful), this superlative example of human breeding pretended he hadn't heard or, indeed, seen the woman lean down and talk directly to him, and continued to stare into space in his Rooney-esque manner. Because he, naturally, with his toned physique and chiselled good looks was FAR superior to any lower form of life that deemed to near his presence and, therefore, exempt from getting the fuck out of the priority seat, or even from moving his thrust-out, trippy-over legs from the gangway (another sufferer of Wandering Bollock Disease, I fear).

For the rest of the journey, he was our quarry.

Now, we don't often do this, but sometimes there are people on trains who have so annoyed or angered the pair of us that neither of us can resist the temptation. We are not bullies, merely revenge-seekers to those who deserve it in our own little childish way. My particular favourite was singing 'Gravy Tan'** to the tune of Eidelweiss. Luckily, Oblivious Man remained Oblivious for the rest of his journey, until he shuffled, knuckles dragging, from the train the stop before ours. I shall make a mental note to give him a prod up the Adidas if I ever see him in town.

The gentleman who did eventually stand so I didn't go flying also took some coercing out of his seat, so engrossed he was in a business conversation with a female colleague. Bah. Leave business off the Tube and have some fun, dammit.

An aside: Before boarding the Piccadilly Line at Green Park, I bumped into someone during our passage from the Victoria Line; he was, very helpfully, stood right at the top of the escalator, in the way of everyone. I bumped into him and kept walking, and heard "Aw, right, baaarge me a l'il, ay? Wassall tha' abaaaht, then? Ay?" Upon looking at who had baaarged into him and discovering she had a cane, I heard a plaintive "...oh". There's a good boy. *pats him on the head*

Seemed to be the night for idiot travellers... but, then again, when isn't it?

*Please don't hit me, please, please don't hit me! :P
**It doesn't look like it from the photo, but this man was practically orange. Seriously orange. The orangest of Tic-Tacs could not out-rival this man's orangeness. The man was orange, is the basic topic sentence here.