Read all about it

This morning I travelled to the West End by tube. Nothing unusual there I hear you say, but this was before 9.30am when lots of people go to work and I’m usually still walking the dog. Yes, I know half the day is gone by then but they don’t!

When I used to tube it to the office, passenger pastimes were very different. I was once part embarrassed, part flattered to be sketched by a fellow passenger. Sometimes people would do unusual things on the tube like sing or play charades to see if anyone would join in, but the vast majority read books or newspapers. A minority would do nothing and there might be one or two people-watchers like me. I’m fascinated by the way people behave on the tube. Everyone sits face to face like a big dinner party, but no one is really there because everyone is between places. You see the real person. Not the work-persona or the home-persona, but the person in between, who they are when they think no one’s watching. There are still taboos. No one would scratch an embarrassing itch, for example or pick their nose, but applying make-up is fairly common for those with a steady hand.

Out of 12 sitters in my bit of the carriage this morning, two were snogging (a clear case of yesterday’s clothes if ever I saw one!), four were staring inanely, one was reading a free newspaper (I’ll call it ‘litter’ from now on for brevity) and four were using mobile devices. Only one was reading an actual book and not a single person was reading a proper newspaper. I know this isn’t a scientific sample and that these people possibly read lots  when they are not on the tube, but surely it’s an indication.

The first thing that goes in a totalitarian society is the free press. Soon after that books are banned. Are we heading towards a state that doesn’t have to ban newspapers and books because no one will want to read them anyway? My advice to the people on the tube this morning? Go to the library and the newsagents. Get it before it disappears.

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About Ms Invisible

I live in the gaps between words, the pauses in music, the invisible space between objects in a landscape. I am a stay-at-home mum. My dog helps me to get enough exercise and my cat keeps me in my place. None of these things have any status in modern western society and yet they are mine and I wouldn't change any of them. Mr. Invisible is the Dennis to my Margaret, the Del to my Raquel, the Fitzwilliam to my Elizabeth, the David to my Elton, the lucky man who shares my life.

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