Shit Ben

As it struck me in the face disturbing me from the solitary slumber of Rick Astley on my iPhone, I spun around like a fat ninja to meet my attacker. To be met by the coarse red fabric of a rucksack.

The rucksack was attached to a rucksack 'type'. Tailored shorts, walking boots and wraparound shades. Like Ben Fogle, only shitter. If being more shit than Ben Fogle is humanly possible.

'Shit Ben' shot me a look that suggested I had just slept with his mother and not wiped up, then continued to read The Metro arms stretched obnoxiously out in front of him. Still attached to his red friend.

After several thousand other sardines had packed themselves onto the 17.53 Jubilee Line from London Bridge, 'Shit Ben' was forced to remove his red 'shell' using the double-flailing-arm-wiggle manoeuvre making it look rather like he had shit himself. Or was about to.

I rubbed my nose stealthily flipping him the birdie and glancing a knowing look. This was a small but satisfying victory for AngryBritain's stinging face. Bad luck 'Shit Ben'.

Rucksackists don't be selfish 'Shit Bens' please remove them before boarding.

And don't even get me started on suitcases with wheels ...

Alrite Cock!

Chaps, this mornings rant is for you.

Having just been assaulted on the Jubilee Line I'm sure this phenomenon is probably more common than most of us would think, however I don't think I've ever heard it mentioned out loud.

As regular readers will know its not very often AngryBritain gets a seat on his crap commute in on the Tube, but this morning we 'Lucked out'. Or so we thought.

Cue Baker St, and it all went a bit Pete 'Thong'

The doors opened and over HE came. Pigeon chest pushed out as far as possible, beautifully gelled hair sticking out in every conceivable direction, the finest italian leather 'manbag' dissecting a pot belly neatly in two. And, the tightest pair of jeans I think I have ever seen. The fly at 3/4s.

And he made a beeline. For me.

Some 10 seconds after our tightly trousered hero entered the Tube, his incredibly tight crotch entered my face. Eye to Japs eye. And it stayed there winking at me threatening to break free, until Waterloo.

Now AngryBritain is in no way a 'gayist' nor unappreciative of the fact that at the best of times the Tube is a packed and unpleasant bodily fluid emporium but Christ-on-a-bike fellas spare a thought for us other chaps sat near you. A Tube can be a little bit like grown-up game of Twister but it is mostly possible to tuck yourself away in someone's armpit so that once plugged in to your iPod (That's free advertising Apple, so a 32GB iPod Touch would be lovely thanks!), you sort of have your own 'space. So chaps, do the decent thing create that 'space' and be 'cock-aware'.

I don't need an early morning dental floss any more than the lady sat next to me.

Shame on you

Perhaps AngryBritain is just a little more sensitive to it right now with Mrs AB about to bear fruit, but we can't help but notice the number of pregnant ladies battling to work on the Tube every day.

 

Any commuter into London will sympathise, at the best of times the Tube is a horrific place, cramped, hot, sticky and smelly. If you are really lucky, sometimes you might have an inch of 'personal space' between you and the perspiring Polish builder. Room to breathe. Bad things.

 

On the Jubilee Line at Westminster this morning my gaze fell upon a smartly dressed young ladies bosom, but not for the reason you might think. 'Baby on Board' read the badge on her lapel. A badge bearing the London Underground logo, 'Baby on Board' in clear blue writing above it.

 

Really?, Is this what it's come to?

 

Is Britain today so far removed from common decency that pregnant women, the mothers of our children and the future of Britain, need to wear a badge to identify themselves in the hope that this might persuade someone to offer their seat?.

 

And you know what the sad thing is?. Despite the badge, not one commuter offerred.

 

Shame on you Britain.

 

It goes without saying that had AngryBritain had a seat, he would have offerred it without hesitation. However, this morning we were comfortably tucked-up. In the perspiring Polish builders armpit. Which was nice.

 

AngryBritain is calling for a return to common decency at rush hour tonight. If you see this smartly dressed mum-in-waiting, or any other lady wearing a 'Baby on Board' badge, or one who you might suspect is pregnant (they are quite easy to spot, they look like ladies, with bigger tummies). Get your big, fat, lazy, immoral behind out of your cosy seat and offer it to her.

 

If you don't AngryBritain will find you. Capiche?

EPIC FAIL!

09.32 . Some 2 hours and 57 minutes since AngryBritain left home this morning, and we have just arrived at our desks. London Blundergroud struck again this morning in spectacular fashion. Overnight engineering works in the Neasden area bought both the Metropolitan and Jubilee Lines to their knees. No trains running south of Harrow-On-The-Hill, and the lines in chaos from the stations southbound afterwards.

 

I mean, you know, bearing in mind for 221 days of the year, millions of us pay through the nose for the privilege of being crammed onto the shabby 1960's feat of engineering, was it not a little shortsighted to do engineering work on a Thursday night. 

 

Good to see that 25% rise in my Oyster fare has improved the service immeasurably.

 

London Underground. EPIC FAIL!