It's all gone very strange...

So this morning, the weirdos were out in force. You can tell it’s their time of year: there are very few trolley bags to control them, so the dimensions just leach through willy-nilly on the Northern Line.

I was perched in my seat between Snuffle-Grunt Man, a new-comer to these parts. I think he is the god of nasal congestion, if the noises he was making are anything to go by. He was on my right. To my left was Paisley Girl who seemed to be dressed from head to foot in gaudy green paisley, with just a hint of blue-green tartan trim. Imagine a colour-adjusted Bay City Roller blended with Sylvester McCoy’s Doctor Who. Just lose the hat and brolly. If in doubt up the paisley; you’ll begin to get the picture. Then add paisley.

Neither of these, however, gets the caddyman award for weirdness. The fashion fairies had descended on a chap sitting just off to my left and on the other side of the carriage.

Imagine if you will, a Hooray Henry on a grouse shoot. Hold that mental picture and edit it thus: replace tweed shooting cap with black felt flat cap. Replace corduroy trousers with black drainpipes and swap out brown brogues with black patent leather lace-up boots. Add black leather gloves. Retain weedy green threadbare cardigan over open collared pale cream shirt (for best effect, do not iron shirt). Add paisley scarf (again with the bloody paisley!) tied rakishly as a cravat. IPod (or similar) with designer brown ear pieces.

The piece de resistance, however, the absolute genius, is the substitution of the tweed shooting jacket with a black velvet shooting jacket of a design that would have Jon Pertwee shouting “this time you go too far!”

The Henry himself should be long-faced and effete, sporting a pallor that would have the Prince of the Undead himself enquiring anxiously after his health. He reads a battered paperback copy of (probably Les Miserables) a book by Victor Hugo.

I am still getting over the fact that Barnet Council have decorated the High Road with what appear to be illuminated salamanders for the holiday season. I need a little less of the surreal in my life.

It's all gone very strange...

So this morning, the weirdos were out in force. You can tell it’s their time of year: there are very few trolley bags to control them, so the dimensions just leach through willy-nilly on the Northern Line.

I was perched in my seat between Snuffle-Grunt Man, a new-comer to these parts. I think he is the god of nasal congestion, if the noises he was making are anything to go by. He was on my right. To my left was Paisley Girl who seemed to be dressed from head to foot in gaudy green paisley, with just a hint of blue-green tartan trim. Imagine a colour-adjusted Bay City Roller blended with Sylvester McCoy’s Doctor Who. Just lose the hat and brolly. If in doubt up the paisley; you’ll begin to get the picture. Then add paisley.

Neither of these, however, gets the caddyman award for weirdness. The fashion fairies had descended on a chap sitting just off to my left and on the other side of the carriage.

Imagine if you will, a Hooray Henry on a grouse shoot. Hold that mental picture and edit it thus: replace tweed shooting cap with black felt flat cap. Replace corduroy trousers with black drainpipes and swap out brown brogues with black patent leather lace-up boots. Add black leather gloves. Retain weedy green threadbare cardigan over open collared pale cream shirt (for best effect, do not iron shirt). Add paisley scarf (again with the bloody paisley!) tied rakishly as a cravat. IPod (or similar) with designer brown ear pieces.

The piece de resistance, however, the absolute genius, is the substitution of the tweed shooting jacket with a black velvet shooting jacket of a design that would have Jon Pertwee shouting “this time you go too far!”

The Henry himself should be long-faced and effete, sporting a pallor that would have the Prince of the Undead himself enquiring anxiously after his health. He reads a battered paperback copy of (probably Les Miserables) a book by Victor Hugo.

I am still getting over the fact that Barnet Council have decorated the High Road with what appear to be illuminated salamanders for the holiday season. I need a little less of the surreal in my life.