Tube, Sweat and Testosterone

I now have full comprehension of the saying "sardines in a can".

Picture the scene. Iddy biddy moi, clutching train pass in one hand, bag in the other. Crammed against door of tube for balance. There is absolutely no space for another man, woman, child rat or gnat!  And yet more eager passengers continue to jostle and those that are less polite, ram their way aboard, tutting at me, the cheek of it, like it’s all my fault for standing by the door!

I inhale deeply with exasperation truly feeling the need to sigh at today’s traveller predicament.

To my horror I am then enveloped by the ghastly aroma of... a man flat after a BIG Friday night on the lash? No we are on a train! A post match football changing room? No, we are on a train. Then where could such a vile aroma be perpetrating from?   It was revealed to me, visually, these very un- delicious pheromones belonged to an unwashed, sweaty teenage boy. I peered deep into the offending pit, bile rising ever so slightly in my throat, you know how it is, you just swallow it back down, scalded throat to add to on-going journey, oh joy!


A little French woman, who had obviously been my position just a stop before, tittered with empathy. How did I know she was French? She spoke to me in her thick French accent, “Why ees it so busy tonight?" (You have to do the accent, if you didn’t read it again!)
Having observed several people further down the carriage sporting red football tops, hats and scarves; I said, in my thick, of nowhere in particular, accent, "I think the football is on" (You can do this accent too if you would like, but I wouldn’t, you will seem a tad silly)

Open your eyes little French lady, the clues are there! Sorry, I wasn’t at my most affable by this point! But, I did love her accent.



Usually I have quite a canny idea, which is to stand at the end of the carriage, this way the open window keeps me and the other travellers relatively cool and sweat free. But today, that little window became my worst enemy, blowing an unrelenting breeze of toxic stench in my direction.

You may or may not have noticed that the smell of B.O changes from person to person, i have learnt this from unfortunately being in the close proximity of people who have never heard of the words "soap" and “deodorant”.

Some intelligent scientists claim that sweat contains a pheromone that will attract you to your one true love. I have never, ever come across the smell of a sweaty body that I found appealing. In fact, my delicate schnozz registers that in every case B.O has a sickly, pungent smell of mouldy onions.

Sweaty McSweaterson did actually smell of mouldy onions. (I haven’t ever actually smelt mouldy onions but I imagine they would smell just like his armpit right now)


I do understand I am not being very sympathetic to this poor boy. After all, he was on a jam packed tube, there was nothing at this point he could do about his pong. (Am I right in remembering in the dark corner of my memory that the same intelligent scientist also acknowledge that we are immune to the fragrance we are emitting?) If so, then I can absolve him slightly but not entirely of the responsibility to address this area of his life.

Trust me I am not usually one to judge. Trips on crowded tubes leave the best of us a little damp under arm, and result in the shirt sticking to back syndrome. But for the courtesy of other passengers, if you think you are smelling a little "ripe", then do not hold onto the rail above your head and subject those smaller to you to a whiff. Or, even better, have the forethought to have a squirt of antiperspirant before leaving the house, the office and before getting on my darn train!

As the tube doors glided opened at Holborn, I was more than relieved to bid a not so fond farewell to my sweaty friend. I was even tempted to wave such was the joy in my heart that I could now breathe easily once more. Finally risking a deep inhalation my nostrils were greeted by the on-slaught of yet another, sweaty, smelly bunch of boys. Aaargh! Where’s a peg or surgical mask when you want one?

As I squeezed myself tighter into the corner I prayed for Kings Cross harder than ever. Rowdy Arsenal fans poured into the carriage, most clutching on to their brown paper burger king bags and cups of fizzy pop and shouting and chanting at each other.

Soon the air was thick with the aroma of greasy, salt and processed meat. One man wobbled as the train continued it's journey, his cup of cola swaying dangerously close to me and my nice beige mac. He must have seen the horror on my face because he burst out laughing and proceeded to pretend to stagger about, always rescuing his drink from spilling on me"just in time".

I gave him my best steely glare only to be met with a wink from and medley of hysterical laughter from the rest of his cretin crew. I was less than amused, but i was finally at my stop. With a parting shot of "prat" I alighted from the tube with relief.

As I made may way through the sea of people I heard the only words could lift my blackened mood - "there is currently a good service operating on all Underground and Overground services" - thank you god, I'll be making it home on time tonight.