British Days: The Most Ridiculous Situation I Have Ever Been In

The most ridiculous situation I have ever been in happened when I was staying at the Forbes* residence in London. Late at night I was awoken from my sleep because I had to use the restroom, and rather badly. I was about to get out of bed when the door to my room flung open. My roommate was back. It wasn't unusual for him to come back late at night because he liked to stay out partying. But this time he had a lady friend with him, and they staggered into his bed, which was beside mine. It was obvious they were drunk too. They didn't even bother turning on the light so they could see where they were going. Passion and intoxication was their only guide through that darkness. And unfortunately for me I would be an unwilling voyeur of what transpired next.

The next thing I knew a lot of heavy breathing started to emanate from my roommate's bed. I didn't know exactly what was going on--and to this day I'm still not certain what they were up to--but I have a good idea because all those peculiar sounds are usually associated with people when they are engaged in sexual intercourse. Then the next thing I knew there was shaking going on in the bed and even some bouncing. Then--and this has to be the high point of the absurdity of the situation--whoever had decided to shack up with my roommate started to fake orgasms.

"Yes, yes, yes... oh, God, oh, God, oh, God," she said like a scratched record being played over and over. Once a succession of yes, yes, yeses and oh, God, oh, God, oh, Gods had finished she'd go through another monotonous succession of yes, yes, yeses and oh, God, oh, God, oh, Gods. And she'd say it in exactly the same way.

Like I have said before it was ridiculous, and the reason why I have reiterated it is because it is simply worth saying again.

And that is how it went while I stayed in bed contemplating how I should handle the situation. During situations like these I never quite know what to do, after all complaining to your roommate about him doing his sexual practices in your presence is bound to be awkward. Should I turn on the light and try to have a calm, rational discussion with them? More than likely that wasn't going to work because they were drunk. Should I turn on the light and get angry with my roommate? If I did that then I risked provoking my roommate, and I didn't want to get into a heated argument and wake up the Forbes. Or should I just let them do what they have to do and then talk to my roommate afterwards or just talk to Mr. and Mrs. Forbes? This seemed like the best option, but I never had a lot of time to think about what to do because the urge to use the restroom became too great, and I got out of bed and headed up stairs. I'm quite sure they heard me get out of bed, and therefore became aware that I was aware of what was going on. But the sexual festivities continued unabated--as if I didn't exist. I stopped at the top of the stairs and listened. I was amazed. 20 minutes had to have had passed and they were still at it and I could hear her fake orgasms all the way up there. And as can be counted on her yes, yes, yeses were quickly followed by her oh, God, oh, God, oh, Gods. She had to be faking; it would be hard for anyone to maintain that many orgasms over that stretch of time. My roommate was just too drunk to be able to tell.

I used the restroom and hoped I wouldn't hear them in the bathroom. 20 minutes of hearing fake orgasms was enough. But then I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Great, I thought. The Forbes' room was beside the bathroom, and if it was my roommate I didn't want to have a confrontation with him and wake them up. And if it was the girl I wondered would I be able to contain my anger. There was a gentle knock at the door. I opened it, and standing there was this bedraggled, goth-looking girl. She looked at me in bewilderment, and I could tell from the look on her face that she knew I was not happy with her. I said nothing and went downstairs into the kitchen. When Mr. and Mrs. Forbes came downstairs I informed them both of the situation, and I can only surmise they said something about it with my roommate.

My roommate didn't stay for much longer in England because he was there to take a three week class; and once he completed that he went home. I can't say I missed him, and soon after my roommate's sexual adventure in England I got new housemates from Texas. When I introduced myself I told them what had happened. One of them told me what one of his friends would do when he was in a similar situation. Apparently, this friend had worked out a solution for such situations, which I sometimes have a hard time doing. Whenever one of his roommates decided to have a sexual adventure in his presence he'd cut on the light, go over to his roommate's bed and tell him "Dude, I think she's broke."

*The Forbes family was my homestay in England.

British Days: A Bad Day

Although London was a nice change for me I was still prone to having a bad day. One day during my stay in London was filled with a series of bad events, and each one was worse than the successor. At work all I did was put records accompanied with stickers, postcards and press releases promoting Fat Records in evelops that would be mailed out to customers. It took me about an hour and thirty minutes to complete this task. After I did this I was told I could leave or surf the internet. They didn't have a lot for me to do there, and Paul, one of my bosses, had told me this the previous week. Putting records in envelops was the only thing they could think of for me to do. I came all the way from Muswell Hill for that! It took me about an hour by tube to get to the office because it was on the other side of London. Now I was going to have to spend another hour of traveling just to get back to my homestay after only spending an hour and thirty minutes at work! I didn't want to feel like I had come all that way for nothing so I stayed around and sent out friend requests for their myspace.com web-site. But eventually I got bored and left.

By this time I was hungry, but I needed to eat somewhere inexpensive. I spoted a Turkish fastfood resteraunt. There are many of these resteraunts in London, and a person can eat a full meal at one of these places for an inexpensive price. I love the chicken shish and lamb shish they serve. I looked at the overhead menue and saw chicken shish. I approached the counter and told the woman behind it I wanted chicked shish.

"Chicken shish kebab?" She asked, not quite hearing me the first time.

I replied that is what I wanted. When my order was totaled it came to about seven pounds, much more than I had anticipated. Maybe the water cost more than I had thought? When I got my order I noticed I not only had chicken shish but I had another sandwich too. I turned around and looked at the man and woman behind the counter. They could tell something wrong.

"I only wanted one," I said.

The woman looked down at the food behind the counter a little frustrated.

"You order chicken shish! Then you order chicken shish kebab!"

I had thought chicken shish and chicken shish kebab were the same thing. I didn't know what to say.

"O. K." I said in defeat. I didn't want to get into an argument. The man behind the counter shrugged his shoulders. I sat in the resteraunt and ate my chicken shish, angry that I had wasted some money.

When I got back to my homestay I went to sleep. I didn't want to think about the days events. I just wanted to be unconscious. When I woke up I went for my routine run in Alexandra Park. The run made me feel better as I had hoped, but my stomach started to hurt after I finsihed. I went back to my homestay to use the toilet. But for some reason it wouldn't flush. Water would fill the toilet bowl but it wouldn't flush; something was clogging the toilet. This was embarrasing! I was reminded of all the times when the toilet overran at my house when I stopped up the stool by accident. One time when this happened the water flowed all the way downstairs. It was a disaster and it was disgusting. My mom had to get get the house dry cleaned because of it. I didn't want that to happen in the Forbes' household*. So I asked Mrs. Forbes if she had a plunger. She asked if the toilet was stopped up. I said yes, and she told me not to worry about it. This did little to relieve my worries. I was in the Forbes' household, and I didn't want to do anything disrespectful. The toilet overflowing would be a nightmare, and God forbid if that happened. So I stayed upstairs and waited for the water level in the toilet to decrease. I was going to try to unstop the toilet myself by flushing the toilet. I was hoping a flush would put enough pressure on whatever was stopping up the stool to go down the drain. That didn't happen, and I didn't want to risk another flush because the toilet just might overflow on that try. I went back downstairs to talked to Mrs. Forbes about the situation. I didn't know what else to do and I didn't want to leave the toilet clogged; it seemed rude of me to do. I could tell Mrs. Forbes didn't want to deal with the stituation. She had given me no answer as to whether they had a plunger and she had simply went downstairs after she told me to not worry about the stool being clogged.

"Is everything alright," she asked.

I told her the stool was still stopped up. We went back upstairs and I can only imagine what she must have thought when she smelled the bathroom. When we got in there Mrs. Forbes must have realized I was worried about this problem.

"Berkley, it's not like I haven't unclogged a stool before! Out!"

And with that Mrs. Forbes went to work to unclog the stool. I went downstairs to eat my dinner in the kitchen. I munched on my food while Mrs. Forbes slaved away upstairs to unstop the stool. I felt awful. This had been my worst day in England. I just wanted to forget about it. After I ate I went to bed hoping to find better things in my dreams and the next day.

*The Forbes family were my homestay.

British Days: The Tube

The tube station can be a pushy place and getting on the tube can be a challenge. Tubes stopping at Finsbury Park tube station--which was the nearest station to my homestay--are always crowded in the morning. A lot of people get off and a lot of people are unable to get on. Before the tube gets there there is always a long disorganized column of people along the plank waiting to get on. The unlucky are at the back of this long column, waiting to see if they can get on. They usually don't and have to wait until a tube or two passes until they have a chance. Each time a tube passes their chances of getting on the tube increase. This is because when a tube passes some people get on, making the column thinner, allowing the people waiting to move up each time a tube passes. Also, whenever people move up in the column their previous place is taken by a new arrival. People on the plank in the morning are like a mechanized machine at work, despite whatever inconveniences that exist.

But this is only one of the complications of using the tube. In the morning and evening the tube is crowded; and when somebody enters a crowded tube it's like entering a pack of sardines that has reached its maximum capacity and is on the brink of bursting. It's so crowded you can't move. You are literally in somebodies face and there is plenty of bumping up against someone or something. Everybody who has to wait on the plank to get on the tube trades his or her place for a more crowded one. The best thing you can hope for is to get through the experience in one peace. But if you're unlucky you'll be stuck in front of someone who needs takes a shower and there's nothing you can do about it. This has happened to me. During my second visit to London somebodies bare armpit was in my face; and either his deodorant had worn off or he hadn't bothered to put any on. It was not a pleasant experience. There are certain places where a lot of people tend to get off the tube, which will leave more room to move. But worse things can happen. Sometimes the tube stops because of some malfunction, and people can be stuck on the tube for hours until the problem is resolved. This tends to be big news in London. Newspaper vendors often try to sell papers whenever the latest tube disaster has happened using this sort of headline: 300 PEOPLE TRAPPED ON THE TUBE FOR THREE HOURS IN TUBE NIGHTMARE! But what would be worse is if the tube broke down and you had to use the restroom. You would truly be in trouble with few options to deal with your predicament--and I am not trying to be funny at all. There were many times in London when I had to use the restroom, and finding one when I was trekking around London was not easy.

Some people might feel overwhelmed and intimidated by all this, especially people who have mobility problems. There have been times when I have seen elderly people who have mobility problems have difficulty using the tube. This is reminiscent of the Tortoise and the Hare children's story. The hare has no problem with mobility; he's fast and the mere thought of being slow would be unthinkable to the hare. But tortoise is slow and sometimes it's a real struggle for him to get from point A to point B. The elderly who have mobility problems inch their way toward the tube in a struggle while everybody else rushes by them. Whenever I saw this it reminded me there will be time in my life when my health will be in decline, and I might not be able to do some of the things I enjoy doing now. I can see why Ray Davies wrote "imagine yourself growing old" when he was 23. Those people were a constant reminder to him the older he got the more likely he was going to have health problems. But one complication I know the elderly wouldn't tolerate in London is being pushed or shoved from behind, which is common in the tube station. One night when I got off the tube at Finsbury Park I was pushed from behind. Somebody put their hand on my backpack--either inadvertently or not--and pushed me forward. I had paused for a second because I was tired; the trek down to Tottenham Court Road and back had worn me out, and I needed a breather. But the unspoken rule of the underground is unless you have mobility problems no one is going to wait for you. If you stop moving when a lot of people are trying to get off the tube or when a lot of people are trying to get on you're liable to be bumped or pushed out of the way. I didn't turn around and quarrel with the person, that would have been pointless. He or she were probably long gone anyway, making their way through the rush and push of the crowd. I fell in with the rest and did the same with the knowledge that this was simply part of life in London.

British Days: Meeting A Girl Named Holly

After one of my adventures trying to get back to Muswell Hill on the bus one night I met a girl named Holly. After I had gotten back to my homestay I went up the street to get some chips. It was almost 2 AM in the morning, but I was hungry, and I knew a place up the street where I could get some chips at that time. The trek back to Muswell Hill on the bus took almost two hours because I went beyond Finsbury Park (the place where I can catch a bus to Muswell Hill) and I had to figure out how to get there from Edmonton, which is north of Muswell Hill.

After I had gotten my chips I made my way back to my homestay. I noticed a snail slithering across the sidewalk. I have noticed that Muswell Hill has a lot of snails, and they usually come out at night. One time when I went into the kitchen at my homestay four snails had gotten in there and I accidently stepped on one with my barefoot. It was a gross experience and I didn’t want to step on another one with my shoe. So I checked the soles to see if there was any gooey mess on there. A girl who was walking down the street behind me asked me what in the world was I doing. I told her I didn’t want to step on snails.

That must have sounded like a strange thing for someone to say. I turned around and looked at her. She looked like she was in her early 20s--22, 23 perhaps, maybe older. She stood around 5'4 and she had long brown hair and blue eyes. As we walked down the hill I munched on my chips and heared her footsteps. They went plop, plop, plop. I thought maybe she was drunk. She told me she was on her way home because she needed to get changed because she spilled wine. I introduced myself. I told her I was an international student interning at a record label and how much I liked London. She looked at me like I was crazy. I told her in London I ccould see many of my favourite bands, and that there was more stuff up the street than the entirity of my hometown of Danville, Va. Danville has hit hard times. When I left Danville the city had the highest unemployment rate in the state. This might be due to a shrinking labor force. Muswell Hill has been a nice change for me. They have all sorts of shops on Muswell Hill Broadway, which is the main street in the community there. You can buy clothes, eat all sorts of delicious foods you can't get in Danville--Thai, Indian and Greek resteraunts are all within walking distance--, buy wine from several wine shops, go to the movies or even drink coffee at Starbucks. Muswell Hill is a far cry from life in Danville.

As we made our way down the street I told her my dream was to be a rock journalist, and she listened intently to my story.

"You sound like your from America or Mexico," she said.

I replied that I was from the U. S. and I offered her some of my chips as we talked. After I told her who I was and why I was in London she told me some things were meant to be. I know many people believe fate exists in some form, but I don't know if anything is meant to be. I am of the philosophical postion that is something we can not know. But her comment does make me think because of the way things have worked out. I had a previous opportunity to study abroad in London, but I passed it up because I wanted to finish my philosophy minor. At the time if I had gone to London I wouldn't have been able to have finished the minor. I still had to take the capstone class, which was a topics class. Nothing at Middlesex University would transfer into Radford University as credit for it. I could have taken the capstone class as an independent study, but I was uncomfortable with that idea because I wouldn't have any direct supervision from a teacher. Also, the capstone class is supposed to be the hardest course in a curriculum, and the idea of me doing an independent study of a capstone class made me uncomfortable. If I wanted to finish my minor the best choice was to stay at Radford University, which I did, and I did complete it. It was through the media studies department that I was able to take advantage of a second opportunity. Dr. Waite and Dr. Worringham formed a study abroad group. They chose students through the process of elimination. I was a shoe in because I was the department's Dean's Scholar for 2005. I've been able to do many things that I wouldn't have been able to do if I had studied abroad the first time around. At Middlesex University I probably would have spent most of my time studying, and I wouldn't have ventured out in the city much. But since I was an intern--which meant I didn't have to spend my time studying--I had plenty of time to explore London. This was a great advantage because I got to see some of my favorite muscians. I saw Neko Case at Sephard's Bush. I saw and met some the members of The Church at The Boderline. I also saw Echo and the Bunnymen play an amazing gig. Underpining all of this is the fact this is the first time Dr. Waite and Dr. Worringham have put together a study abroad group. I got lucky, and things could not have worked out any better.

British Days: Echo & The Bunnymen

The thing I love the most about London is everything I like is easily accesible. There's a coffee shop and bookstore almost everywhere you go and almost every week a band I was interested in came to London to perform. Unlike my life in Danville life in London is hardly boring. So on a Sunday night I went to see Echo & The Bunnymen at the KoKo club in Camden Town since I didn't have anything to do. It was the best gig I have ever been to.

I got to the club early so I could see the two opening acts, and because I wanted to make sure I could get as close as possible to the stage. I was able to get a spot in the second row. But when I entered the club there were a lot of people on the first and second balcony. I wondered why those people weren't on the first floor trying to get as close as possible to the band. There was still plenty of space on the first floor. The first band to go on that night were already playing, and when I got as close as I possibly could to the stage I understood why those people remained on the balcony-- it was loud down there. The Koko club is a big venue with two balconies. So that means the band has to be loud enough for everybody to hear, including the people on the two balconies. At times the voice of the singer was a muffle lost in the blare of the music from where I was at and I couldn't hear the harmonies that well.The two opening acts worked hard on stage. They poured alot of passion and energy into their songs. The second act, a band called Freemaker, reminded me of The Stooges alot. They played straight ahead primitive working class hard rock that was catchy. They even dressed in black t-shirts and jeans which made them look like they were from Detroit or New York. The singer even seemed like he had learned a thing or two from Iggy Pop. He strutted up and down the stage and did various rock poses in an effort to work the crowd. But when he spoke with a Scottish accent I knew this band was from some place far away from Detroit and New York. I was impressed, but the singer was having a hard time working the crowd. They were there to see the legendary Echo & The Bunnymen and Freemaker couldn't fight against that.

"You're a hard crowd," the singer told us.

After Freemaker left the stage the floor got crowded. People were making their way to the first floor so they could get as close as possible to The Bunnymen. Like many gigs it got so crowded I couldn't move to my right or left or forward or backward without bumping into someone. It got so bad I had to take off my backpack to make more room for myself and other people. I laid my pack on the floor in front of my feet so I wouldn't get seperated from it. After awhile the legendary Echo & The Bunnymen came on stage. The first member of the band I saw was Ian Mculloch. He wore a black coat, a t-shirt, jeans and shades. He walked up to the mic, flicked his cigarette and started to sing non-chalantly. Ian looked like the Terminator up there on the stage; and the amazing lightshow made him look like he had just emerged from the time warp itself. His movements were concise for maximum effect. All he did was stand there and sing, and the section I was in went crazy because of it. When the Bunnymen played "Stormy Weather," the third song that night, the entire section broke out in a massive orgy of pogoing. Echo & The Bunnymen had unleased a fury of middle-age male aggression, and there was no letting up to it; it just grew, and I was caught in it. Now I really realized why those people on the two balconies were there. They didn't want to get pogoed on. Things were getting aggressive and I had only two options: pogo with them or be pogoed on. Since I was far away from the non-pogo section I had no other choice but to get aggressive with them, and it was rough going. I couldn't enjoy the music because I was getting pogoed on and I didn't feel like pogoing for the entire gig. That would have been too much of a workout. I had already gotten seperated from my backpack, and I couldn't go back for it. So I made my way to the non-pogo section where I could see The Bunnymen's amazing gig without somebody bumping into me. I also continued to observe the Bunnymen's middle-age male fans go berserk. These people treated the gig like they were at a celebration. While they pogoed some of them had their arms around each other, happy to be in the presence of the Bunnymen as the band played on. After the Bunnymen left the stage I was able to retrieve my backpack. It was still in the place where I left it, and the contents (which included Joy Division's first LP on vinyl) weren't damaged.

The Bunnymen gig put me in a state of awe. I didn't know live music could be like that, and the definition of music has taken on a new meaning for me. Compared to the two previous bands that night Echo and the Bunnymen made rock 'n' roll look easy. They played classic after classic, and those songs sounded better live than the studio versions. "Do It Clean" and "All That Jazz" put the recorded versions to shame, and they made the crowd go into a frenzy. Also, Will Sergeant's guitar work put me in another world. It was like he showed up from another dimension just to show us what could be done with a guitar and some effects pedals. Simply put-- The Bunnymen were spellbounding. The records just do not capture what that band is capable of doing live. They had the right mix of passion and great songs to play that night and they made the place go crazy just from showing up. And as Keith Richards would say on any given night any band that has the right mix of passion and songs is the greatest band in the world, and on June 4th, 2006 Echo and the Bunnymen were that band.

British Days: World Cup Fever

Last year England was caught in the grip of World Cup fever--and it was intense. Wherever I went in London people were displaying their patriotism. English flags hung from the windows of homes, many people wore the English soccer jersey, countless flags flew on cars and on game day many people draped the beloved English flag over their shoulders. Wherever I went in England I couldn't escape World Cup fever.

From an outsiders perspective during the World Cup in England people are expected to put aside whatever differences they have and support England. There's nothing comparable to it in the United States. The closest sporting event we have that approximates the intensity of the World Cup is the Super Bowl. The Super Bowl is a huge event in the U. S. Out of the three major professional championships played in the U. S. (the other two are the World Series and the NBA Championship) the Super Bowl is easily the most recognizable and the biggest of the three. This is because the Super Bowl has morphed into something more than just a championship--it is a cultural event. The Super Bowl is hyped up long before gameday. Fans not only eagerly debate what two teams will be playing each other on that special day in January but they also plan where they're going to watch the Super Bowl, what they'll eat when watching it and what they'll be wearing during it. Advertisers in the U. S. have latched on to the Super Bowl as a way of showing their new commercials, many of which try very hard to be clever and funny, and sometimes a big deal is made over some of these commercials. Commentators are now almost expected to critique these commercials. And any American knows how much of a big deal the Super Bowl half-time show is, one of the most important things during the Super Bowl. Usually some big name entertainer such as The Rolling Stones or Paul McCartney play their music to millions. In comparision to all this it would almost seem inevitable any other championship in the world would pale in comparision.

But the World Cup is a bigger event. The Super Bowl lacks the intense patriotism fans bring to the World Cup. The mere thought of the World Cup being unpatriotic to the English would be unthinkable. When I went to the pub to watch England's first match against Paraguay with my housemates we were lost in a sea of red and white (the colors of the English flag). We had gotten to the pub an hour early so we could find a seat and get something to eat. When we entered we realized we weren't going to find anywhere to sit for awhile; the place was packed. Everybody in there was ready for England to take on Paraguay, and they were going to support England all the way. When the English soccer team took the field the pub was filled with a loud chorus. It said one thing: England!I have never seen patriotism this intense before, and it is hard for me to think Americans would get as patriotic about something, especially a sporting event. This is for several reasons. Americans like their sports homegrown. We typically aren't very supportive of a sport that hasn't been bred on American soil. This is why we love baseball, basketball and American football so much. These three sports are played in other countries, but it has only been recently that we have considered two of these sports--baseball and basketball--as being international. This year was the first year of the World Baseball Classic, a baseball international competition. But most Americans didn't get patriotic about it, and this is a sport that is supposed to be the American past time! Most Americans were disinterested. Also, there was some controversy about it in the U. S. George Steinberner made it known he didn't want his players involved in it out of fear they would get hurt and wouldn't be able to play for the Yankees. Also, there is a deep cultural divide in the U. S. which makes it hard for Americans to support something with an one for all attitude.

The comparisions and contrasts of the attitudes that Americans and the English have toward sports is interesting because these attitudes reveal some major differences between the two countries. Soccer isn't that big in the U. S. and many Americans are disinterested in the sport. There's a deep rooted bias against it in America. Some people are so disinterested in the sport they openly express their dislike of it. I remember one time when I told my dad I wanted to play soccer he replied why the heck do you want to play that; and his attitude has always been of dislike toward the sport. But in England soccer is a big deal; it's so embedded in the culture the idea of not supporting England in the World Cup--and I suspect any other international soccer competition-- is almost unthinkable. To illustrate my point after England had defeated Paraguay one of the housemates told me he wasn't leaving the homestay if the U. S. and England played each other in the World Cup. World Cup fever in England was so intense he feared for his safety--and he had good reason to.

British Days: Public Transportation In London

One of London's many quirks is its public transportation system--it has a mentality of its own. When somebody takes the bus or tube in London he or she becomes a voyeur. Londoners have a habit of talking about their personal lives when they use public transportation. On any given day of the week you can overhear anything that is going on in the lives of the people of London. Somebody might be having problems taking care of an elder member of the family. Somebody might talk about how to resolve a situation with a potential lover. Two people might even make out in front of you on the tube, revealing the physical intimacy between them. Observing all of this was like weaving in and out of other people's personal lives, although I didn't know anything about those people.

And as can be expected from someone who constantly observes these things I overheard some hilarious things. I remember one time I overheard a conversation between a man and a woman about opera. The topic of conversation was about a male singer, and the terminology they used could've been interpreted as having sexual connotations. "Did he float your boat,"the man asked the woman. She was a little skeptical of the singer's abilities but she replied that her boat did in fact float. But this wasn't the most outragous thing I've heard while using public transportation in London. One time when I was on my way back to my homestay on the bus a young woman made her way to the back of the bus where I was sitting. She looked like she was in her late-20s or early-30s. She was dressed in a nice outfit, and looked like she was going to have a night out with some friends or go on a date. She pulled out her cell phone and started to talk to someone on it. She told the other person on the other line she didn't want to be lonely in life and mentioned the perfect relationship and the perfect somebody. Then she proceeded to beg--and I do mean literally plead--the other person to have a drink with her. She wanted to go out on a date, and it was obvious she was desperate. My housemates reported even more outragous stuff. One told me how he overheard three women talk about how much time it had been since they had had sex. Whenever I overhear these conversations on the tube or the bus it reveals something about somebody's personal life. I always wondered who were these people who were so open about their lives in public? What walk of life do they come from, and how did they get where they're at now in life? What sort of problems have these people encountered, overcome or even succumbed to?