The train arrives at Russell Square station where two teenage boys; a chiseled tall one and his short less chiseled friend get on the same carriage and sit two seats to the left in front of me. They look as if they’ve been in existence for 18 years at most. I notice the boys because of their well turned out English accents. In fact, both boys speak so very well that having not seen the exterior walls of a public school, let alone even considered entering said building; I begin to imagine the kind of educational establishments they must have attended.

Finding myself clearly rather taken by chiseled and his softer faced friend, I almost miss a couple in their early 30s as they board the same carriage and sit next to the boys, opposite me. Chiseled is telling Soft Face about his sister’s fiancé, while myself, and I’m pretty sure the couple opposite me also, work hard at pretending not to be listening.

Chiseled: “…I’m on my way to Leicester Square now but it was in Kensington last night that I met him for the first time. He’s just incredibly dull. I have no idea what she sees in him. I mean the man is like…”
Just as I thought that my journey could get a little interesting, Chiseled abruptly stops speaking. I look up and see that his gaze is fixed on the carriage doors opposite him, to my left. I turn to follow his gaze in a fashion which I imagine is ever so subtle but knowing me, it wasn’t.

Two teenage girls, a blonde and her redhead friend get on the train and sit opposite the two boys. It soon becomes crystal clear just why chiseled is unable to peel his eyes off the girls – actually, just one girl in particular. No points here for correctly guessing which one. Chiseled continues to stare intently at Blondie. Seemingly unaware, the girls talk cheerily among themselves.

Half expecting him to spend the rest of his journey quietly and intently staring at Blondie, I’m forced to sit up and pay attention when, completely out of the blue, Chiseled assumes what, obvious to me (and should have been obvious to anyone else that heard him speak not too long ago i.e. the 30 something couple) is a completely bogus French accent. A ‘French’ accent not too de-similar to Steve Martin’s Inspector Jacques Clouseau from the recent Pink Panther films, therefore totally unconvincing.

Nevertheless, Chiseled goes on with this elaborate charade of pretending to be a young French tourist in his effort to talk to Blondie. He then proceeds to ask her for directions to get to Kensington High Street. By this point I had to remind myself not to smile too broadly or let even a peep of laughter escape my lips as I watched the scene unfold.

Chiseled pulls out his handy ’prop’ (also known as a tube map), and Blondie, totally oblivious to the scam taking place, leans across to show him precisely how to get to Kensington High Street. Soft Face and Red do nothing except sit quietly avoiding eye contact.

What I find amazing about this whole ‘performance’ isn’t just the sheer cheek of Chiseled – carpe diem and all that. But it’s the fact that the 30 something couple sat next to the boys completely forgot about the conversation Chiseled and Soft Face were having just a moment earlier – in perfectly turned out English accents! They even offer to help Chiseled get to his fake destination of Kensington High Street.

I would love to tell you what happened next with Blondie, Red, Chiseled and Soft Face but I’m sure you can guess. And you will have to because the train had just arrived at wonderful Covent Garden, my destination.