Joe Strummer

My favourite newspaper story this week was the one about the man who had been complained about by a woman he was sitting next to on a train. According to this lady, the chap had been, under cover of a newspaper, pleasuring himself whilst breathing heavily and emitting a series of disturbing noises. I had always wondered, up until now, what the "Metro" was actually for. Anyway, this man ended up before the Beak, with an ingenious if somewhat credulity-stretching, explaination for his behaviour. It seems that he was an enthusiastic banjo player, and, in moments of absent-mindedness, given to strumming movements. He produced a video of himself, playing the banjo, as evidence. His ragged breathing was a result of his having contracted a respiratory ailment, and he had obtained a note from his GP to this effect. He got off, without a stain, so to speak, on his character. Various things occured to me as I read this account.One was that I would have given much to have been a member of that jury, who,it is reported "giggled". Another was that I should liked to have heard the conversations between said fellow and his GP, the arresting officer; and most of all, that which took place between the strummer and his wife.
The least remarkable aspect of this incident is that it took place on London Transport.
I don't know what gets into people when they have to do with LTR. I lived in London for thirteen years, and the most peculiar things used to happen to me on both Under and Overground trains. Not only me, I hasten to add, all my friends and colleagues had pervert/madperson stories,too.
And yet... I didn't ever feel nervous or threatened. Perhaps I was stupid, but I was entirely confident of my ability to extricate myself from any situation involving people. Machinery is different, and I was terrified of the mechanical aspects of the Tube, particularly automatic ticket dispensers. They would work perfectly well for every single person in the queue ahead of me, but would go rogue when it came to my turn. I never even dared try the chocolate machines, as no-one could work those. You could see enraged people bearhugging them, trying to kick them onto the tracks, or just weeping and banging their foreheads on the glass panels, trying to dislodge a trapped Twix.
Regular Tube users develop a particular expression. It is a nice blend of bland disinterest and blase weariness. The more exuberant British passenger might allow themselves a tut, or an exasperated "For God's Sake!" when there is a body (always described as "An incident" ) on the line, or  a convincing-looking conflagration in process. I have been on trains where people tried to make other people, where an entire carriage was so independently drunk that they all fell off the end seat every time the carriage did a bend, then all scrambled back on again (STILL no-one spoke). I have seen flash mobs, flashers, and Flamenco dancers in full flood. My friend Marie sat opposite a man on the way to the Isle of Dogs, who waited until she and he were the only people left on the train,and then undressed down to his socks under cover of the Guardian. When the train drew in to the last stop, he calmly replaced his clothing and alighted. I said "So what did you do?" She replied "I took his Arts Supplement".
This sang-froid is admirable, but makes me wonder if British Loons feel that they have to try harder as a result. A current television programme about the Tube revealed, after some anecdotes from the lost luggage department staff, that it is quite usual for people to travel with a bag of live eels. That would be my defence, were I a chap accused of unseemly wriggling. "I had a bag of live eels which I have since lost the run of" would stand up better in court, I feel, than all this malarkey about playing the phantom banjo. An expression, incidentally, which I now intend to circulate as a euphemism. I do hope it catches on.