Train People: A Field Guide To Britain On The Move

Trains are one of Britain's great social experiments. Take 500 people who don't want to speak to each other, put them inside a metal tube, remove half the seats and charge them £87.40 for the privilege. The London Underground takes this experiment one stage further by removing daylight, fresh air and most remaining traces of happiness.

Here are some of the people you'll meet along the way.

THE PLATFORM OPTIMIST

Arrives on the platform and immediately walks to the exact spot where they believe the train door will stop. This calculation is apparently based on years of experience, platform markings and possibly the alignment of Jupiter. The train arrives and the door stops 14 feet away. They casually wander towards it pretending this was always the plan.

THE DOOR GUARDIAN

Gets onto the train first and immediately stops inside the doorway, despite 35 people behind them still trying to board. They've made it, which is apparently the important thing. Now they need to stand completely still while deciding whether they'd prefer the left or right side of the carriage. MOVE.

THE SEAT HUNTER

Boards a packed train and spots an empty seat approximately 40 metres away. The hunt begins. Old ladies are overtaken, children are sacrificed and luggage is hurdled. They reach the seat just as somebody else sits down and spend the next 45 minutes staring at them with the cold hatred normally reserved for international war criminals.

THE BAG WITH ITS OWN SEAT

The train is packed and people are standing everywhere, but someone's handbag is enjoying a lovely journey in Seat 32. You approach. The owner sees you, sees the bag and returns to their phone. Eventually you ask, “Is anyone sitting there?” and receive a sigh suggesting you've just requested they move a grand piano.

THE QUIET CARRIAGE REVOLUTIONARY

Books the Quiet Coach specifically because they have an important 90-minute phone call to make. Within seconds comes the inevitable, “HELLO, GARY. YEAH, I'M ON THE TRAIN.” We know. Gary knows. Carriage C knows. By Peterborough, everyone knows about Gary's divorce, the warehouse problem and why Sandra from Accounts can't be trusted.

THE TABLE COLONISER

Four seats around a table, occupied by one passenger. Laptop in front, coffee on the left, phone on the right, coat opposite, backpack beside them and a charging cable crossing the table like an international border. They haven't booked a train seat. They've opened a branch office.

THE ANNOUNCEMENT TRANSLATOR

The driver makes an announcement and nobody understands a word. “Ladies and gentlemen, due to a fnnnnnggg signal fnnnnnggg ahead, we'll be held at fnnnnnnggg approximately fifteen fnnnnggg.” Everyone looks at each other until one passenger confidently announces, “Signal failure.” Nobody knows how they know, but they've immediately become the carriage's official transport correspondent.

THE DELAY NEGOTIATOR

The train stops outside a station and after approximately three minutes somebody decides this is personally unacceptable. “Come ON.” Another minute passes. “For God's sake.” They start looking through the window as though they might identify the fault and repair it themselves, before opening Google Maps to check whether the driver has accidentally taken the train to Wales.

THE PERSON WHO STANDS UP 25 MINUTES EARLY

Their stop is approaching, eventually, so preparations begin. Coat on, bag zipped, phone away and ticket ready. Then they stand by the door despite the train still being 18 miles from the station. They spend the next 25 minutes swaying violently around the vestibule while everybody else remains comfortably seated, but at least they'll save themselves those crucial four seconds when the doors open.

THE TOILET DOOR GAMBLER

Approaches the train toilet and presses OPEN. The door slides majestically aside to reveal somebody sitting inside who forgot to press LOCK. Two strangers experience a level of intimacy neither requested before the door slowly closes again. There are no winners here.

THE TRAIN PICNIC

Some people bring a sandwich onto a train. Others apparently believe they're crossing Siberia. Out come the crisps, sausage rolls, boiled eggs, hummus and something involving tuna. By Doncaster they've produced cutlery and by York there is every possibility of a cheeseboard. The entire carriage now smells like a village hall buffet.

THE TUBE POLE HUGGER

Rush-hour Tube, carriage packed and one vertical pole available for approximately six people to hold. One passenger has wrapped their entire body around it with both hands, a shoulder and possibly one leg. They're no longer holding the pole. They're in a committed relationship with it.

THE BACKPACK WEAPON

Standing on a packed Tube wearing a backpack approximately the size of a tumble dryer. Every time they turn around, six commuters are swept sideways into the doors, yet they remain completely unaware of the devastation behind them. At Oxford Circus the backpack takes out a small child and clips a pensioner. Still no reaction.

THE TUBE DOOR CHANCER

The warning sounds and the doors begin closing. A normal person waits 90 seconds for the next train. The Tube Door Chancer sees this as a sporting challenge and launches an arm, bag and eventually their entire body through the narrowing gap. They make it aboard and enjoy three seconds of enormous personal satisfaction before discovering they're on the wrong train.

THE ESCALATOR REBEL

London has one rule: stand on the right. We've made signs, announcements and had approximately a century to practise. Still, somewhere at Holborn, somebody is standing proudly on the left while 28 commuters gather behind them silently contemplating acts that would normally require a lengthy prison sentence.

THE PERSON WHO TRIES TO BOARD BEFORE ANYONE GETS OFF

The train arrives, the doors open and twenty people need to exit. One person waiting outside decides the obvious solution is to walk directly into them. An awkward collision follows involving luggage, elbows and several centuries of British social etiquette. Nobody actually says anything, obviously, although the quality of tutting is exceptional.

THE EYE-CONTACT ACCIDENT

You're sitting on the Tube and casually look up at precisely the same moment as somebody opposite. Eye contact occurs. Both parties immediately look away, but the damage has been done. You've shared something now. One of you may need to change carriage.

THE PERSON WATCHING TIKTOK WITHOUT HEADPHONES

Forty passengers are sitting peacefully when suddenly a phone erupts at full volume. Someone screaming, swipe, robot voice explaining five things you didn't know about bananas, swipe, somebody dancing, swipe, another screaming person. Nobody confronts them because this is Britain. Instead, 39 passengers quietly imagine throwing the phone onto the tracks.

THE DRUNK TRAIN HOME

The final train on Friday night is no longer public transport. It's an ecosystem. Someone is asleep against the window, somebody has chips and two people who met 14 minutes ago are now lifelong friends. A woman called Chloe is explaining why she is DEFINITELY finished with Josh this time while three men at the other end of the carriage attempt a song none of them actually knows.

By the final few stops, nobody knows where their coats are and at least one passenger is asleep. He will wake up in Bedford. He lives in London.

THE REPLACEMENT BUS SERVICE

Three words capable of destroying the human spirit. Your train has been cancelled, but don't worry because a replacement bus service is operating. Nobody knows where it leaves from, when it leaves or whether it actually exists. A railway employee vaguely points towards a car park half a mile away and 40 passengers begin walking towards it carrying suitcases.

Eventually the bus arrives. It has 28 seats.

And that, perhaps, is why we love British trains. They're expensive, occasionally mysterious and capable of turning a 55-minute journey into an expedition requiring emergency supplies. But they're also where Britain is at its finest: silently judging strangers, protecting imaginary seat reservations, eating inappropriate food and conducting entire arguments through eyebrow movements.

And somewhere beneath London, a Tipple Tours guest is sprinting down an escalator trying to work out whether the Northern line has always had four different versions of north.