Manifest Destiny

Shelley and I hopped on a tube the other night, and although one end of the carriage was quite deserted, for some reason we decided to go for two seats down the crowded end.

Even before I sat down I had an uneasy feeling about the size (which was large) of the woman to my right; something told me that by sitting here I would be exhibiting a careless disregard for the rules of The Universe. And yes, The Universe was right (I'm sure I heard some celestial body slap its forehead as I sat down).

No sooner had I sat down than I realised I was sitting on the woman's thigh, and not just a bit of her thigh, but a lot of her thigh, which had laid claim to nigh-on a third of my seat. An involuntary, "Oh" escaped me as I computed my predicament. I couldn't just jump up and say, Let's move to another seat, because that would be tantamount to saying, My goodness you are big, aren't you! I just didn't realise how big before I sat down, which The Universe (and by this stage I was listening) told me would never do.

So I sat. And I sat some more. And I pretended to be interested in the advertising placard on the wall, which advocated vitamins for middle-aged people. All the while, these words sped though my head to the tune of that baseball organ theme: thigh, thigh, thigh, thigh; thigh, thigh, thigh, thigh; thigh, thigh, thigh, thigh; thigh, thigh, thigh, thigh - I'm sitting on a thigh!

Enough! If it was this thigh's manifest destiny to have my seat, then so be it, I would happily be pushed to the margins.

"Oh, there are some other seats," I said, and we left.

I guess the answer was don't sit there in the first place.

The Legend Grows

We found these beauties on Carnaby St - with no line-up!


Thus we take one step closer to the creation of a worldwide database of face-in-hole scenes. If anyone can illuminate us with the whereabouts of more scenes, we would be very grateful.

The Pyramid From Pinner

A couple of Christmases ago now, Shelley and I saw this man (the one in the background) riding the tube from Baker St station.

We snapped a covert picture of him and posted a story, Power of the Pyramid. Since then, the story has attracted somewhat of a groundswell of attention. Six random readers (yes, six!) have spotted Pyramid Man across London, and have documented his whereabouts in their comments. Here they are:

Anonymous said...
I saw this bloke yesterday at Baker St! He got on the southbound Jubilee Line at about 4pm. I snapped a photo of him too, but it's nowhere near as good as yours. Well done!

9/08/2008 7:11 AM

Steve Higgins said...
I saw this guy on the tube yesterday too, he got off the Bakerloo line at Baker Street.... I had to Google him, was sure other would be talking about him on the net.

9/09/2008 12:20 AM

Anonymous said...
This chap lives in Pinner, he is quite often sitting in the window of Cafe Nero scribbling with a mystical looking pen...

11/10/2008 6:17 AM

Priya said...
Ha ha. My sister and I saw this guy going up the escalator at the Picadilly station. We had a bit of a laugh riot and decided to Google up pyramid-wearing people in the UK and found your page. :D

3/10/2009 6:21 AM

Mark said...
Spotted pyramid man in Pret, Covent Garden, drawing satanic images in his notepad..

I thought the Pyramid was a lampshade.

Anybody ask him if he has got a light ?

4/14/2009 9:34 AM

Anonymous said...

Although it's been a couple of years since you so subtly yet clearly documented the existence of the individual we like to call 'triangle man' as you can see, this chap just keeps on giving the gift of mystery. As I don't commute from Pinner, I've been puzzled by two friends and their strange descriptions and reported sightings until this evening. We've been delighted to discover there is a suitably eccentric explanation - Many Thanks! Katy, Claire and Naureen Pinner

10/23/2009 6:17 AM

So, I think it is fair to say that Pyramid Man probably commutes to London from Pinner. But where does he go when he gets to London? Baker St, Piccadilly Circus and Covent Garden. Let's look at those points on a map, shall we?

That's right; an ominous triangulation has descended upon the West End.

Insomnia and Fruit

A couple of nights ago now, I experienced a terrible bout of insomnia. I stayed awake until at least 4 AM feeling completely tired, yet completely wired. It was in this state that I came up with a brilliant writing idea: fruit monologues. No, not talking fruit, but me talking to fruit.

I started writing, and I kept writing for quite a while. I was convinced this was the best stuff I had ever written.

Unfortunately, when I came to read my fruit monologues in the morning, they were not as funny as I remembered. It was like waking up to find ... well, that you had spent the better part of the night before talking to fruit.

Here is one called Dragon Fruit:

Dragon fruit, I'm not so sure you are going to take off the same way apples and bananas have. I know it may seem like an unfair comparison, but they are just so popular right now, and you ... well, the grocer only stocks four, maybe six of you at a time. Still, I think I should give you a go. Some people I know say you taste gross but, I think you look pretty good. So colourful. Maybe you taste like punch?

I have tried you now and you are gross, just like those people said.

END.

Trust me, you stay up until 4 AM tomorrow morning and read it again - you will think I am a genius.

There Was No Free Cake

(Warning: this post contains grossly elitist sentiment. Just so you know ... that I know.)

As I was saying in an earlier post, Shelley and I scored two free tickets to the England vs. Slovenia (football) match on Saturday, so we went.

As you can see, the train ride in was was jam-packed with a million other foosball fans; however, they weren't the kind of fans I had come to expect of 'soccer' games in Australia. They weren't poofs, they were boofs. They were thirty-year-old men with the hair-styles of thirteen-year-olds (shaved into a 'V' on the back). There wore generic tattoos, expensive polo shirts, and toothless grins. And they shouted 'England' with a mysterious lack of consonants.

I thought these guys had all but disappeared on the front lines of two world wars, but it seems the UK enjoys a limitless supply. Hence no invasion in a thousand years I suppose.

Anyway, lucky for us, our free tickets allowed us to enter through the 'gifted' peoples' entry. There we were greeted with air conditioning, escalators, and, best of all, a string trio playing Britney's 'Toxic' (in a very polite way). Yes! It was elitism drenched in irony, meaning I could accept it with a sense of irony and not feel bad. It was just like watching 'Neighbours'.

As for the game itself, I could tell it wasn't one that would go down in the annals as an all-time great, or even one that was all that good, but it was still very entertaining. I will say football is an excellent game to watch, and I would definitely see another match, providing I could be flown in and out by helicopter or a hot-air balloon.

And this is how we exited the building. Yes, we entered like Grand Poobahs and left like dogs.