One of the main problems with the London underground is the lack of toilets. In fact, in that sprawling network of tunnels, where millions of people are transported every day - such a massive volume of people - there is a complete absence of toilets. Not one.
Two of the main problems with alcohol are that it makes the most nonsensical, ludicrous ideas seem veritably plausible and really quite clever, and that it makes one urinate far too often. Hence, being on the London Underground whilst under the influence of alcohol is inadvisable.
With my head spinning as the train zoomed (I know trains in England have never zoomed, and never will zoom, but I'm being dramatic) towards Heathrow, my bladder decided it had had enough, and gave up. I needed to piss - then and there. I was fidgeting like a child caught short, doing the desperate man's shuffle as I searched the carriage frantically. No toilet. I wasn't in London often, and this seemed insane. I looked for some sort of stealthy corner where I could do the deed, but everywhere I went I was greeted with stern stares. I had to think quickly, but being drunk was making that difficult. I narrowed down my options: get off the train, or humiliate myself in front of these strangers, and possibly traumatise some innocent people. I chose the former option, but my plan of action couldn't have been more poorly executed.
My intention was to jump off the train at a station, quickly piss in a corner, amd, once relieved, hop back on the train, with no one the wiser. It was a flawless plan.
So, as the train pulled into some random suburban station I announced loudly, "Don't worry, this bag is NOT a bomb," before stepping onto the platform. No sooner had I done this than I heard the familiar hissing of the doors, and the rumble of the train pulling away. I turned around and my jaw dropped. Before me was an empty railway line. And I still needed a piss.
I took stock of my situation. I was drunk, I had a plane to catch, and my backpack, containing all the items that were to be my life for the next 7 months, was travelling across London unattended.
I set off at a sprint, looking for someone who could help me out of this ridiculous situation. I found one of those help points and jabbed maniacally at the button. Earlier in the day I'd commented to my friend how much of an utter moron you'd have to be to ever need a help point.
There was a crackle, followed by a man's voice on the other end of the line.
"Hello," he said, warily, as though he knew help points were reserved solely for idiots.
"Left my bag on train!" I blurted out incoherently.
"Why?" came the exasperated reply.
"Err, because I need a wee," I said. I was so embarrassed, I felt like a humiliated schoolboy.
"Right," he replied, as though this was an everyday occurrence. He directed me to his office, and when I finally got there I explained I needed my bag back desperately, as I was leaving the country in a few hours. Luckily, he called ahead a few stations and the staff there secured my bag. After thanking my hero graciously, both for getting my bag back and finally letting me use a toilet, I made my way to the next station, where my bag was waiting, along with a rather displeased looking Fat Controller type chap.
"Why?" he asked sternly.
"I don't know," was the best answer I could muster. Not even an attempt at an excuse.
"You could've brought the whole of London to a standstill!" he added.
I laughed. He didn't. "Sorry," I said, still not really understanding the severity of what I had done.
"it's okay," he said, changing his tone. "Just be careful in the future." I felt like I was being lectured by one of my old teachers. "Where are you going?" he asked.
"Peru."
"Aaah, travelling," he said, and I thought I was finally gaining some respect.
"Yeah, and teaching," I replied.
He coughed. "You...teaching. Very...good?"
"Yeah. Okay, goodbye and thankyou very much," I replied courteously, ignoring his complete lack of faith in my ability.
"Bye," he said, "and say hello to Paddington for me!"
I forced a laugh and as I left the station, I made a promise to myself to throttle the next person who told me a fucking Paddington bear joke.
There were no more dramas on the way to Heathrow. I spent a few hours there trying to sleep, but gave up and played cards with a lovely old American lady.
I left for Lima at 7am on 7th September 2004, still very much a boy, with no conception of how the world we inhabit really works.
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