The Chant of the Barbie Dolls

I sat idly musing on the tube this morning, minding my own business listening to my ipod. Nowadays my old ears aren't great and I have to jack the volume up so high to hear anything over the almighty clattering of the rolling stock, that the incipient permanent ear-drum damage is almost not worth it anymore. Plus the so-called “shuffle” has developed a mind of its own and has decided that damn it, if it has to play the Clash, it will only ever play "Lost in the Supermarket", because it seems that's the only Clash song it likes. I, on the other hand, much as I love the Clash, am getting a bit tired of hearing it as the third, sixth, ninth, twelfth (etc) song every time I turn on that crappy shuffle. You know I don't envy Apple and Steve Jobs their money, I have plenty of my own, it's just, you know, they make such an inferior quality product.

Anyhow, the woman sitting next to me proceeded to have her breakfast. In what I and the other passengers felt was a casual and offhand manner, she proceeded to munch, slurp, scrape and lick her way though: an Actimel, a banana, 2 pots of yoghurt and an orange, which she peeled inside of Sainsbury's plastic carrier bag, presumably for health and safety reasons. There really aren’t many things more irritating than someone else eating a pot of yoghurt – particularly if they un-self consciously lick the pulled-off foil lid, and then do that annoying little scrapey motion at the bottom of the pot, with their idiotic black plastic Sainsbury’s spoons.

I sat there wondering what else she would pull out of her carrier bag: a plate of bacon and eggs? A couple of moist, warmed croissants from underneath her oxter. Maybe a medium rare steak sandwich? If she’d gotten as far as shucking a few oysters, I was sure I'd put some Tabasco sauce in my bag before leaving, so we could have had quite a party. Maybe she was also going to produce a damp sponge and proceed to give herself a bit of a wash down. Who knows?

Then to add insult to injury, not content merely with her luxury breakfast on a 9:05 Jubilee line train to North Greenwich, she then had the temerity to proceed to apply what I'm guessing was a full make up barrage to her physog.

It suddenly occurred to me that London Underground is missing out on a significant marketing and business opportunity. Why not have a dedicated "breakfast carriage". The wide Victoria line tube rolling stock are ideally suited to a buffet bar style unique breakfasting experience. Not to mention the idea of spa and relaxation carriages, special make up application carriages on gimbals that prevent jerking and smearing of lipstick; sleeper carriages for those getting on at the ends of lines with long journeys. What about gym carriages? Get your work out on the way to work. For an appropriate fee you can get to use one or more of the new carriages so you can arrive at work fed, watered, exercised, manicured, made up, suited and booted.

Or you know, you could just get up a bit fucking earlier and do it at home. Just a suggestion.