The First of Many Trains Back from London

Our first trip to London was a winner. The sky was mostly clear, so it was sunny and hot, if you're a Brit. If you're a Chicagoan it was a bit warm (I'm already preparing the speeches I'll lay on friendly Briton's heads when they innocently engage in conversation with me about the horrid weather. Ahem: "Yeah, it's cold, I know- but I'm from Chicago and every year we have a number of days when the temperature drops, ok? Except in Chicago it drops 40 degrees in twelve hours, whereas you guys get a 40 degree difference over the course of a year, so...this isn't cold." ...I can't wait to make this speech and watch their faces when I'm done, grimacing with the effor of not pointing out that they use Celsius over here.)

 

So. London. The British Museum is so interesting and full of extremely accessible collections that you don't feel like running to the gift shop immediately upon entering the place. Walking- lots of it, sore-leg-making length walks, which I love and my daughter doesn't (yet.) I even had dinner with an old friend, and met my friend's boyfriend (Scottish) and his friend (English. ) I felt like a world traveler- a baby world traveler, but it's progress;  by the end of the summer I intend to be smoking French cigarettes in a t-shirt signed by a Tokyo street artist while waiting in line for the doors to open on day one of Saudi Arabia's LGBT Film Festival. But in the meantime,  there's the train back from London.

 

We got on and faked casually looking for good seats together, an attitude the other day trippers carried with them like reading material.  We sat. It was a slow ride,  but fortunately there was a small group of drunk people right behind us. This being Britain,  the seats were so clean I couldn't work up a good fume. The drunk people talked to everyone, and everyone handled it with calm indulgence, including the equally drunk Italians. There was a minimal amount of gesturing from them; still, neither group wished to give  up on their new drunk friends. This made for a hilarious exchange that went just like this:

English 1:"Ah you need Hamford? Is Hamford-Sawtry this line cuz if not me mates here-"

English 2: "This isn't the Hambourg line! They need lots of tunnel!"

Italian 1: "Your cities have a sign, which is everywhere. I think that England has too many. Friends?"

 

English 1: "What they say is that you're fat, but you're not fat-"

 

English 2: "Not them, the country! Italy is fat right at the top because of bad carbs!"

 

Italian 2: "I do not see planes here. What is this about planes? Shyness makes me mad."

 

English 1: "We're gonna sing. You sing. I heard you, your voice-"

 

English 2:"They weren't being shy, that was maps! I hope they had tunnel maps!"

 

English 1: "Yeah yeah, right, but singing will get them there."

 

Italian 1:"I understand singing. We aren't shy but I don't sing on planes."

 

English 1: "No, this is a train and everybody sings all the time-"

 

English 1: "What a waste! They can't be in two places, and you're makin 'em warble!"

 

Italian 2: "Warble is English for shy. I told you, we don't think shy things are good things."

 

English 2: "Fat cities, too! But you guys are all ok- just: tunnel tunnel tunnel!"

 

I'm confident that my translation is true to the core meaning of the drunk people's conversation, in that it had no core meaning anywhere, unless you count the segment about singing. The singing bit is true. It's a universal fact that if you're on a late train home from a major metropolis, either you will be drunk or the people behind or in front of you will be drunk- and you should remember to bring lozenges, because you will end up in a sing-along. Ours was prototypical: the intoxicated behind us sang loudly and cheerfully, and a few others joined in (maybe they knew what was playing next and were warming up.) Then the loudest behind us (English 1) found a song and shouted loud enough to be heard by the people from another train car who were getting off:

 

"Everybody has to sing to this one!!"

 

It was Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen. Everyone smiled at the same time, and everyone became an honorary drunk.

 

"I SEE A LITTLE SILHOUETT-A OF A MAN SCARA MOOSH SCARA MOOSH WILL YOU DO THE FANDANGO!"

 

All the passengers had the same expression between lyrics- there was a great deal of concentrating on what was  sung next, because we all used to sing it in the shower/dorm room/other train when we were in college/high school/prison/indentured servitude as an intern.

 

"MAMA MIA MAMA MIA MAMA MIA LET ME GO BEELZEBUB HAS A DEVIL FOR A SIDECAR ME, WITH ME SAYS MEEEEE!!!!"

 

There is an instant right after that line is sung where there's nothing: a breath I believe it's called in music-learnin', and during the breath everyone looked at each other with a dare in their eyes. Then: guitar. Massive, colossal, fantastic guitar, and as one we passengers picked either head-banging or fist-pumping and did the solo proud. We were in full synchronization in that moment. It was a beautiful moment. I'm sure it was even more beautiful for the drunk people, because you've never heard so much hollering and laughing- it was as if everyone there had won the lottery at the same time.

 

I'm excited about the next trip to London and back. I hope to be a drunk person.  I have the song Come On Eileen all cued up and ready to go.