"Found love on the Northern Line" the 90s band, Northern Line sang. Cheesy they may have been, but they almost certainly spake true. Or so I hear.
In ye olde Britain, couples were joined in marital bliss through parental control and wealth. The twentieth century caught up with us and dating agencies were the place to find the love of your life. This was augmented with the gym - not only could you walk out looking like Jennifer Lopez/ J-Lo (whatever she is called these days) you could take your pick of potential boyfriends and hubbies.
In the twenty-first century however, it is all about 'Love on the Northern Line.'
As a daily traveler on the Northern Line, I am yet to find any variety of 'love' on my frequent journeys. Not that I purposely search for my future husband here, or anywhere for that matter. Except maybe, I have a brief inspection when we reach Tufnell Park where all the beautiful men of London appear to live. And anywhere in the business district with the corporate men in their suits. Having said that, it is neither love nor lust, more that I am a perv.
Love on the Northern Line may have been released back in 1998, but it seems they were on the button. (Even if they do sound as if they have just been crushed by a tube at Camden Town). A recent report found that the Northern Line is the (sorry to be cheesy) 'Love Line,' with men and women more likely to attract a cheeky date or find 'the one' here than on any other tube line or bus route.
In my sad life, and because this report intrigued me somewhat, I attempted to hunt out a couple that met on the Northern Line. Or even someone who had asked, or been asked, on a date. I. Am. Still. Looking.
Maybe it is because it happens so often that it is not regarded as an unusual meeting place, but how many times have you actually spoken to someone who is courting the fittie they met on the Northern Line? I do not know anybody, and have certainly not personally dated anyone I met specifically on the tube, let alone the Northern Line.
Having said that I was, a few weeks ago, chatted up in a vague way. As I sat reading a well-known national newspaper, a middle-aged man who was perched three seats away, moved into the seat next to me. There was no need for this. The seat he was primarily in was not smothered in sick, nor was there a herd of friends hankering to sit together. After the usual 'Hello,' 'How are you?' malarkey, he proceeded to ask me if I enjoyed wine or skiing. I gave an answer implying I savoured the former, and the latter had never appealed to me. After some more idle chit-chat and creepy exchanges, the man gave me a torn piece of newspaper. A competition he had ripped out of a free newspaper to win a week away in the Swiss Alps, accompanied by a large crate of wine. He romantically declared that I deserved it more than him with a hint that I would look pretty with rosy cheeks. Naturally I accepted, with slight puzzlement and looking forward to the next station where I could run home with my dignity in tact. If this is how love on the Northern Line works, I would rather go without. Thanks all the same.
When I asked my friends if they have ever had any 'love' experiences on the tube, specifically the Northern Line, they laughed in my face. Stopped. And reaffirmed that it boasts the most attractive specimens than other tube lines (probably in an attempt to boost their own egos). One friend -who will remain anonymous- specified that she had 'eye-flirted' on the Northern Line more so than any other tube. But she apparently 'eye-flirts' everywhere. Basically, she is not a reliable source.
One thing they all agreed on however, was that to try and tell the hot bloke or pretty woman who is sitting next to you that you believe they are the sexiest specimen alive, would most likely be followed by 'Fuck off you perv.' Thus, the report is in reality, a load of bollocks. As is 'Love on the Northern Line.' Thank God they split up.
First published 9 January 2006
In ye olde Britain, couples were joined in marital bliss through parental control and wealth. The twentieth century caught up with us and dating agencies were the place to find the love of your life. This was augmented with the gym - not only could you walk out looking like Jennifer Lopez/ J-Lo (whatever she is called these days) you could take your pick of potential boyfriends and hubbies.
In the twenty-first century however, it is all about 'Love on the Northern Line.'
As a daily traveler on the Northern Line, I am yet to find any variety of 'love' on my frequent journeys. Not that I purposely search for my future husband here, or anywhere for that matter. Except maybe, I have a brief inspection when we reach Tufnell Park where all the beautiful men of London appear to live. And anywhere in the business district with the corporate men in their suits. Having said that, it is neither love nor lust, more that I am a perv.
Love on the Northern Line may have been released back in 1998, but it seems they were on the button. (Even if they do sound as if they have just been crushed by a tube at Camden Town). A recent report found that the Northern Line is the (sorry to be cheesy) 'Love Line,' with men and women more likely to attract a cheeky date or find 'the one' here than on any other tube line or bus route.
In my sad life, and because this report intrigued me somewhat, I attempted to hunt out a couple that met on the Northern Line. Or even someone who had asked, or been asked, on a date. I. Am. Still. Looking.
Maybe it is because it happens so often that it is not regarded as an unusual meeting place, but how many times have you actually spoken to someone who is courting the fittie they met on the Northern Line? I do not know anybody, and have certainly not personally dated anyone I met specifically on the tube, let alone the Northern Line.
Having said that I was, a few weeks ago, chatted up in a vague way. As I sat reading a well-known national newspaper, a middle-aged man who was perched three seats away, moved into the seat next to me. There was no need for this. The seat he was primarily in was not smothered in sick, nor was there a herd of friends hankering to sit together. After the usual 'Hello,' 'How are you?' malarkey, he proceeded to ask me if I enjoyed wine or skiing. I gave an answer implying I savoured the former, and the latter had never appealed to me. After some more idle chit-chat and creepy exchanges, the man gave me a torn piece of newspaper. A competition he had ripped out of a free newspaper to win a week away in the Swiss Alps, accompanied by a large crate of wine. He romantically declared that I deserved it more than him with a hint that I would look pretty with rosy cheeks. Naturally I accepted, with slight puzzlement and looking forward to the next station where I could run home with my dignity in tact. If this is how love on the Northern Line works, I would rather go without. Thanks all the same.
When I asked my friends if they have ever had any 'love' experiences on the tube, specifically the Northern Line, they laughed in my face. Stopped. And reaffirmed that it boasts the most attractive specimens than other tube lines (probably in an attempt to boost their own egos). One friend -who will remain anonymous- specified that she had 'eye-flirted' on the Northern Line more so than any other tube. But she apparently 'eye-flirts' everywhere. Basically, she is not a reliable source.
One thing they all agreed on however, was that to try and tell the hot bloke or pretty woman who is sitting next to you that you believe they are the sexiest specimen alive, would most likely be followed by 'Fuck off you perv.' Thus, the report is in reality, a load of bollocks. As is 'Love on the Northern Line.' Thank God they split up.
First published 9 January 2006
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