Travel sick

Last night I had dinner with my friend Sarah. We laughed so much, I was almost sick.

Then, on the tube on the way home, I sat next to someone who actually was sick. Copiously. The offender looked like a football supporter (i.e. moron) who'd had a bit too much to drink. He stumbled off at the next station. Anyway, for the fifteen minute ride home, the whole carriage chatted and laughed away, warning new people at each station not to step in the sick.

For one girl, wearing flip-flops, the evening took a turn slightly for the worse.

The puddle of sick was rolling round the carriage, lapping at people's feet, like a tropical ocean might. If it was yellow and smelled of bile.

Another girl dropped a pound coin right in the middle of the vomit pool. She giggled a lot but didn't retrieve it, and it was still there when I got off at Bethnal Green.

But it was such a nice, fun journey, and only a little bit smelly. Everyone was chatting to each other, joking and having a laugh. With this community spirit in mind, I'm going to make it my business to throw up in as many Central Line trains as possible from now on.

For morale building, at the very least, it's got to be better than the Dome. London, don't say I never do anything for you.