Storytelling

Once upon a time (four weeks ago) I went to London for the weekend to celebrate a friend's Hen Party... I did tell you. Remember?

I flew Tunisair, who give you more food than British Airways, but are always, almost-predictably late. Landing at Heathrow, I darted down to the tube to fly across town to meet the other Hens and begin celebrating my friend's final moments of 'freedom'. I had come straight from the office, and was moving with just hand luggage. I wasn't exhausted, but I wasn't looking my finest either, having come off just a cheeky three-hour flight.

So I assumed my seat on the tube and started re-clock-in to all the social norms of my country. It's all strangely familiar, and yet, you feel like such an outsider at first, it takes the brain a little while to catch up. I remember when I came back from Uganda once and all I could see everywhere, on the train, on magazines, on posters was those funny black and white boxes, the mobile barcodes. It took me a while to work out what on Earth they were.

A lad sat down opposite me. He was groomed, very groomed. I'm au fait with the whole metrosexual thing and all, but this guy is new levels. plus he is wearing bright green trousers, which makes me smile as it reminds me of this so I chalked him up as being some over-groomed toff, just off a flight from Zurich and I take out my book.

When suddenly, Oh My God! he's staring at me... This is the London Tube. Eye contact is an actual crime. Is he actually staring at me? I thought this just happened in Tunisia, why is this stranger looking directly at me? Am I actually in the UK? Am I on fire? I will look up very quickly to ascertain if he wants to engage in some kind of exchange. Why is he staring? Is it really a starable offense that the hem has fallen down on my dress and you can see some loose threads? I will fix it, y'know.... I just haven't had time yet....

I glance up quickly, aware that if our eyes meet, we will certainly burst into flames.

And then I see it. He is checking out his reflection in the blacked out window behind me. He is actually rearranging his hair.

Mate.

Do boys in the UK do this now? Is it socially acceptable for boys to be that vain? Then (and just to note, I was not staring, I was merely observing discretely) he took out his Iphone with it's reflective casing and continued to play with his hair, like it was the most normal thing in the world. I was flabber-ghasted. This was not my country.

He then took out a wet wipe from his leather carry-on and polished up his shiny shoes, smiling with satisfaction as he did it. My eyes rolled.

He reached into his bag again, and although, I felt like nothing, ...a hairdryer, ...a vanity table, ... some tweezers... could surprise me at this stage, I was still curious to what Rupert (as we were now calling him) had for us next...

...When out came a brand new, freshly-printed, Penguin copy of Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment, the same book as I was holding (though my copy had lived a bit). Imagine my surprise and delight! Then we did a bit of real eye-contact and a nod for being book-twins.  I secretly smiled to myself, wondering if this book about a depressed, poverty stricken Russian scholar, who leaps around St Petersburg like a madman is really a book for Africa Girl and her un-hemmed dress, or just an outfit-accessory for vain, green-trouser Ruperts, straight off the plane from Zurich?

Nevertheless, I just finished it, and I LOVED it.