I went to get the Underground home after going to check out the ‘Occupy’ protest outside St Paul’s Cathedral, only to find the next tube scheduled for eight minutes time because of a “defective train.” The announcer reassured the crowded platform over the PA that there would be a train every minute afterwards, but these proved to be too full to make much impact. My companion left to walk to a District Line station, so I caught the eye of a friendly looking guy in a shirt standing next to me on the platform holding his suit jacket.
He told me he was an IT consultant from Blackburn who had just moved for work and we talked for a bit about the tube and how busy it was, a good entry subject. When train after train is going past packed full like that, you realise the sheer volume of people the tube system carries. I think it’s quite amazing but he clearly didn’t.
“The one thing I hate about London,” he said, despite only arriving in here a few days ago, “is the Underground. If I were a millionaire, I’d buy it and scrap it.” He had that manner of speaking where people raise their voice at the end of a sentence, like everything’s a question. What about the congestion? I asked. “I don’t care,” he said, “I’d sell it for scrap metal.”
As we got closer in the ‘queue’ to getting a cramped spot on a train, I told him I’d been at St Paul’s to have a look at the protest and asked what he thought about it. He said he didn’t think it was going to change anything, and contrasted it with the Arab Spring protests. We eventually squeezed on to a crowded train and talked to each other through a strange contortion of limbs, him looking at me sideways over his arm holding the rail above and while my arm holding my coat was trapped behind his back somehow.
“It’s the way the world is,” he said. But does it have to be? That’s the question. “I think while the real people don’t have the power to change it, they’re not going to change it. Money makes the world go round.” Maybe we can distribute it more evenly and change that, I said, leading him a little. “The only thing you can do is try to change things is from the inside.” Ah, but how many millionaires do you think are going to give their money up? “You’ve got to do it from the inside and expose them,” he said confidently enough for me to not consider following up what he meant.
People have commented on this blog that the people I approach must be aware of other people listening in on the conversations, which must make it weird. That’s really not the case, at least for me. Once I’m engaged with someone, I forget all about the other people around me, and it seems to be the same for them too. Maybe it’s because it’s a stranger and a slightly awkward situation, but it feels like it’s just the two of you, or maybe, particularly in this cramped and crowded situation, it’s because the other people aren’t talking and they seem almost cattle-like and unhearing.
Over someone’s shoulder, I saw a picture of Colonel Gaddafi, and asked what he thought of his capture and possible death. “I think it’s all about money,” he said, warming to his theme now, I felt. Libya as well? “Oil. Afghanistan’s about strategic positioning in the Middle East and Iraq’s about the oil. No matter what they say, It’s all about the money… It’s all about money.”
What about that scandal? The Liam Fox one? I wondered, seeing as we were sweeping the news. “Give the right person the right amount of money and they’ll do anything.” I’d like to think I wouldn’t I said, leading to a slightly awkward pause. There’s a fine balance in this kind of conversation between getting opinion, causing offence and keeping people interested, but our chat had been light hearted and we’d both chuckled along despite the subject matter.
So, I asked before I got off, what was his plan to become a millionaire then? “I think I’m gonna have to rob a bank” he said, quick as a flash. “They seem to be doing a lot better than we do. Either that or become a drug dealer.”
London Talking 