On my way home today on the District Line three slightly drunken Australian men got on, cans of beer in hand, and sat contemplating the sign above my head which read ‘Drinking alcohol is prohibited on all London Underground Lines’
‘Will we get fined?’ one asked.
‘I don’t think so, mate. It says it’s just prohibited.’
Then, in true Australian fashion, they proceeded to take photographs of each other with their noses pressed against the glass partitions.
Then they took a photo of me.
‘You don’t mind being on Facebook do ya, mate?’
‘Not at all’ I said, although I wish I’d asked them where exactly I was going to be featured.
‘Can you take a photo of the three of us?’ one of them asked.
‘OK’ I said, and took the camera that was being thrust toward me.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘If it’s shit we’ll have to throw you off the train.’
I raised an eyebrow and held up the viewfinder as they arranged themselves across two seats, one of them sprawled across the laps of the other two.
I took two pictures, and handed the camera back.
‘Oh! Well done mate. Can you take another? We’ll do a different pose.’
This time the two of them sat on the seats while the third leaned over with his back to me. As I centred the scene one of the seated men reached around and pulled the third guy’s pants down, exposing an exceedingly hairy arse.
I took two pictures, savoured the moment and took another.
‘Have you done it yet?’ asked Mr Hairy Arse.
‘I’m just getting the composition right,’ I said, and took a fourth.
Then I handed the camera back and they thanked me.
‘Do you want to come to my birthday party tonight?’ asked the big chunky one.
‘I’d love to,’ I said, ‘but I have plans.’
Then they all got out at Barons Court and I was left with an Indian mother glaring at me as if she were Britney Spears and I were a lone defenceless paperazzo, and her daughter, who seemed highly amused by the whole thing.
As was I. It quite made my day.