There is a scourge afflicting London’s public transport. Other cities are not immune from this problem, but it seems all the more insidious, intolerable and inbelievable on the commuter lines of London.
These perverts – some of whom you might call colleagues or even friends – pervade tube carriages and nonchalantly, carelessly expose themselves to their fellow travellers. Women and children huddle in frightened masses as far north as Liverpool Street; never being able to shake those images.
I refer, of course, to those fringe members of society who wear socks not long enough to cover their shins when their legs are crossed.
We have crossed the oceans, scaled the highest mountains, broken the sound barrier, walked on the moon, connected every country on the planet to youtube, and there is no end in sight to our potential. And still there are men out there thinking it acceptable for their socks to fall down and cast the spectre of hairy legs into their audience.
Perhaps the greatest crime is that the solution to this abomination is so easily within reach. Simply stock up on long, over-the-calf socks. These are for sale, these commuting ne’er-do-wells are on their way to work so presumably have disposable income. What is the insurmountable barrier that puts the brakes on decency?
I despair. I really do. Even our beloved Boris is a culprit when he travels to meetings.