Tube talk.

I love drunk Londoners.  When I am not being one myself I enjoy being exposed to their rash bravery and eagerness to make friends with strangers.  Why can't London be like this all the time? Imagine how many friends we'd all have if we just spoke to each other and didn't pretend to be alone whilst ignoring the armpit your nose is being squashed into on the tube.

One of my favourite encounters with drunks I have had was while waiting for the last tube on a Sunday night.  A man yelled at me to verify whether the man next to him was a spy.  Even if I had known I couldn't have disclosed this information to the rest of the platform so the man and his friend wandered over to discuss things further.  Conversation moved onto the suitcase I had, which contrary to their prediction actually contained costume and not holiday wear.  Upon discovering I was a dancer, one of the guys proceeded to explain that he was an acrobat.  Oh really?  This was most definitely a joke.  So I challenged him to demonstrate something as proof.  He did a back flip right there on the platform.  Oops...he could've died in his drunken state and I would've been to blame  (which interestingly he did warn me of beforehand).  I did very well out of this moment, not only did he land the back flip and therefore save me from a lifetime of guilt, he handed me his scarf to hold on to while he performed.  Jokingly, I asked "oh wow thanks, is this for me to keep?" He said yes.  Bingo!  This is why drunks are useful.  It must be pointed out that this was a girl's scarf and so he had probably won it in a similarly cheeky way...I hope.

The train arrived and we ended our brief but eventful time together by salsa dancing and waltzing through the carriage.  Made my day.  To all those who start conversation with a stranger, I salute you.

Beautiful eccentricity.

I met a wonderful man this week.  What an excellent specimen of a human being he was.  Wandering through the posh streets that lead the way to Victoria from Hyde park with my friend who is visiting from Argentina, we paused so I could get my bearings.  From across the road approached this fantastic man.  He wore a suit jacket over a bare chest, teamed with boxers, biker boots and a riding hat; these were accessorized with a dummy on his pinky.  He also pushed a buggy, to match the dummy I presume as there was no baby in it. 
His mission was a hunt for hugs... 'I've had such a bad day I just really need a hug', was his opening remark.  Why of course!  Who doesn't enjoy intimate contact with a half naked random on the street?  Especially one sporting Mothercare jewellery.  I received my cuddle and peck on the cheek before he swiftly moved on to my friend - 'and I must have a hug from your gorgeous friend too!'  Lucas, who was squatting down to rest was not in the most optimum position for this kind of activity, although I'm sure our new friend would have thought quite the opposite.  Before Lucas could risk the face to crotch "hug" that was looming he leapt up, entering into a rather prolonged embrace followed by a kiss upon each cheek.  'I'm not really having a bad day I just wanted a hug'; it transpired we were his first success story of the afternoon despite several earlier attempts.  He explained that he particularly relished the males who were willing to comply when you 'get to feel their boobies and their bums', all accompanied by gesticulations in case we needed confirmation as to the location of these body parts. 
As he left jauntily down the path towards his next targets it became apparent that his boxers were slightly too large for him, they had slipped down to allow his buttocks to peep out at us, a final farewell.  Poor Lucas wasn't entirely sure of what had just happened.  'I don't get it,' was all he could say, as if I did.  As if this was some kind of London tradition.