Londoners, today we will be considering three little words:
Rush Hour Crush.
Not so much the actual crush experienced on the tube, but that hallowed section of the Metro everyone reads while grasping one teeny, tiny, miniscule little thought:
“WILL IT BE ME TODAY?”
Rush Hour Crush is the jingle of hope in every commuter’s morning routine. Spanning just one single column in the Metro newspaper, this is the home of bus stop romances, cross-platform glances, brief Underground encounters and an unholy amount of regret.
In fact, put your ear to the paper and you’ll probably be able to hear it: the faint sound of smitten Londoners repeatedly kicking themselves, mourning that moment the doors closed and their last tube home lust-object disappeared down the tunnel to Hainult via Bank.
But if this small but perfectly formed newspaper column has taught us anything over the years, it’s the following:
No distinguishing feature is a bad distinguishing feature
Even ailments, contagious illnesses and coughing fits are just a calling card for love
Phone numbers are best given on plain sheets of normal, white paper
A dab of perfume in the morning can go a long way
…as can spending a little bit longer doing your hair.
It’s the million pound payoff for every time someone’s said “You know who you look like?” and then named a character from Harry Potter.
Views: I’ve never done this before but I saw a handsome guy, he was wearing a white shirt and was staring at me yesterday. He was getting off the 141 bus at moorgate tube station about 11.45pm. I was wearing a black coat and as I looked up from my phone he blushed and so did i he seemed really nice. I kept staring at him as he walked towards London wall with a satchel on his back . he didn’t look back I was gutted. anyone know who he is?
Correction he got off at 11.45am if it’s you I wish I had smiled at you.
On the 05:42 from Pinner? Not so much.
To the Young Man making notes in textbook – I sat opposite you at Kennington on Saturday afternoon 16th November around 3.30pm – you were making notes in a textbook … B+D=C or something … and had a tesco bag and a dark red coat… you looked up when I criticized an advert on the tube … you had a pen in your hand and I wish I’d taken it and written down my number! Alas, I didn’t and you got off at Clapham North! Female, dark hair, orange trousers.