Tube Ride I sat on the Tube riding home, being bumped and lightly thrown about. My relaxed head lulled by will of the Tube, until suddenly my neck stiffened. For I had seen a woman. I looked her over, vivid dress, shabby make up, face stooped over a yellow polystyrene tub. Our eyes locked at 11 o'clock and it was at this point that I knew. Everything made sense; I saw her, sauce around her face, burger dangling from betwixt her lips: she was drunk. I continued to watch in silenced amazement as the chips went in two by two - perhaps this is poetic licence, it was more accurately handful by handful. I couldn't help but think this woman had had fun tonight. A few minutes past, I still watched and listened as a cackling scream left her lips every time her friend whispered something in her ear. Eventually she turned to her friend, her make up and meal merging on her face, and spoke, quite eloquently, of their planning a holiday. Quite naturally and normally they held their conversation and it was at this point that I actually knew and nothing made sense. I had judged her which I now regret. This was not a drunk woman. This was a woman who didn't give a fuck. And I respect her.