One of my favourite things to do is people watch. London is fantastic for this. Although I’ve learned to be stealth in this past time since my “white c*nt” experience.
Before I moved to London, I lived two blocks from my office. I left my apartment at 8:27 am and would arrive with one minute to spare before my 8:30 start time. Although, this was ridiculously convenient, especially for those times when I arrived at work wearing something that just didn’t “feel/look right” and could quickly nip back home during my break to change, I did miss public transit commuting. As long as I could manage to get a seat, I always enjoyed previous commutes to work. I could read, listen to music, and check out the masses.
Since moving to London, commuting has been an inevitable part of my work day. And, at times, the most enjoyable. My journey from West London to East London takes around 30 minutes. Armed with my iPod and current novel, I spend the entire journey checking out the people who get on and off the train. See, that’s the wonderful thing about it, it could be a pretty boring commute and then BAM(!) a fancy Englishman gets on at King’s Cross St. Pancras and for the next 10 minutes or so I observe his expertly styled, floppy hair, perfectly pressed pink shirt with gold cufflinks and tailored suit, pointy, fashionable shoes and signet ring on his pinky finger. Vancouver doesn’t have many “fancy” men; a term I use to describe the business men in London who most likely spend more time on grooming than I do, which is saying a lot. They fascinate and amuse me. I think I would be too intimidated to actually date one, since I’m pretty sure that not all of these fancy men are gay. I’ve also been warned by Alayne to avoid men with pinky rings…not quite sure if she’s ever told me why, though?
Tourists are my other favourite. I try to figure out where they’re from and where they’re trying to go next. They usually have their London tube map out with their London map (Joey style) and are constantly looking up and down at the larger map posted above the seats. Head up, head down, head up, head down. I remember when I first arrived in London how intimidating The Underground seemed to me. I usually feel a sort of kinship with these fellow foreigners, but at times, they piss me right off. Usually when in large, loud groups, which prevent from getting a seat on the journey home after a long, hard day of…sitting behind a desk, looking cute.
I wonder who will entertain me on my way home from work today? I’m in the mood for tourists or a lady with funky hair to ponder.