Tube Drivers

I was so struck by the driver of my Morden via Charing Cross train this morning that I nearly forgot to get on it. This has never happened to me before, ever. At 6:30am it should be a surprise to anyone that a commuter is capable of noticing anything, even a nuclear bomb, let alone the driver of their train. But I do. I've taken an interest in train drivers in the last couple of years for two reasons. Firstly, because a recent civil society campaign prompting professionals to stop ignoring office cleaners/canteen workers/menial labourers of any kind has really struck a chord with me and I am proud to say I not only say hello to all the security guards, cleaners and coffee providers at the office where I work, and the gym where I work out, I even know their names now. And the names of their children. And what they think of the coalition government, immigration, benefits, minimum wage, and Top Shop. I'm not kidding. Three years of living in Africa kind of nukes out of you the inbred quintessentially British characteristic that limits your interaction with total strangers to one piece of information only. It is not uncommon in Botswana to spend a good 10 minutes at a supermarket checkout sharing each other's family health problems. Shocked the hell out of me when I first got there. Now I chat so chummily at my local Tesco checkout that I have caught my prey fingering their security button with a distinct air of nervousness. So that's the first reason. The train driver is going to get me from A to B, the least I can do therefore, is pay attention to who is going to get me there. The second relates to the rising trend by train drivers to engage in an endearing one way conversation with their passengers. Does Transport for London make a point of hiring drivers with an arch sense of humour? If so, it's working. Last week the computerised voice on our train announced "This Train Terminates Here" two stops into my commute. Disconcerted commuters groaned and started to gather up their belongings. "Ignore her" said a voice over the intercom, " she's had an aneurism. This train is going all the way to Kennington. Take it from the horse's mouth". Two days ago we were stuck in a tunnel. "You may have noticed we have come to a stop" said the driver over the intercom, "even those of you with your noses in your IPads will probably have sensed a distinct lack of motion". Brilliant. The next generation of stand up comedians is currently keeping the Northern line going. So, I take an interest. When my train pulls into the station I take a quick look. Today's pick throws me completely. Firstly, the driver is a woman. I don't know the statistics but I'm telling you as a daily user of an average of 4-8 trains over a 24 hour period, that female drivers are rare. They also, by the way, tend to be a lot less humorous and a great deal more business like. Female drivers are the ones you can hear, all the way from the end carriage, yelling at Control to find out What The Hell Is Going On As The Passengers Need To Know. Your life is safe in the hands of a female train driver - or at least, it is more predictable and infinitely better informed. Though I do tend to miss the vague, dreamy announcements that run along the lines of, we are being held at the station for a while, I really haven't a clue why, but beats being holed in the tunnel at 35 degrees. Anyway. The driver is a woman. She is also quite the most stunningly attractive women I have clapped eyes on in a while. She has raven black, shiny, wavy hair, pulled back loosely from her head. She has a high arched forehead, huge eyes, perfect skin, beautiful dangly earrings, careful but not over the top make up, and slim tapered fingers. I'm amazed I managed to clock all this in just a few seconds, but I'm a commuter and commuters learn to absorb loads of information in just one glance. All that "be vigilant" stuff is paying off, you have No Idea how much. So my jaw drops. It shouldn't really, should it. Why shouldn't a beautiful woman buck the trend and drive a train? Because the only other time I've seen it happen is in movies. Debra Winger, driving a combine harvester. Sandra Bullock, driving a bus. It is such a singular sight my mind, sluggish in its pre-coffee state, struggles to process the information. It takes so long about it I stare at the open doors instead of walking through them and only the warning beep brings me to my senses. I leap on at the last minute and take a seat. I wait for an incident so that we can hear our driver's no doubt perfectly modulated tones. But the train glides effortlessly from stop to stop.  Maybe it, too, is mesmerised.