Mathew Browne

If you’ve ever tried to get the Northern Line from Waterloo in the morning, you’ll know it gets pretty crowded. Thankfully, as I’m rarely in a rush, I can afford to wait the tortuous 60 seconds extra for the next train to arrive.

The same cannot be said for a smug-looking rude boy on the tube this morning. Train pulls in, everyone shoe-horns themselves into the carriages, except me and this guy. He’s too cool for that. He struts on to the edge of the carriage after everyone else. He’s looking at me with a smirk on his face, as if to say “I’m so cool, I’m not even jostling for space, and I’ll get where I’m going before you.”

Then the doors close on his head. Prick.