There is a time and a place for holding hands – and it is not at 8.30 in the morning when the rest of the population is trying to get to work.
These hand-holders, these couples who – without a thought to the hundreds of people obviously in a rush – stroll slowly through the underground, or wander aimlessly caressing each others palms over bridges, should be put down. Or at least fined heavily by Boris.
Take, for example, the Jubilee Bridge – for many the quickest route to Embankment station and the connection to their various tube lines – it may be the quickest geographically (there aren’t any unknown contour lines after all), but due to this selfish gripping of claws that has contaminated our city, it isn’t the quickest in reality. On a bad day, it would be quicker to whack on a wet-suit and take to the Thames.
‘Ah, she obviously doesn’t have a boyfriend,’ I can hear you say. Yes, it’s true – I don’t. Perhaps I am immune to the heartwarming sensations you are rewarded with for grasping your lovers hand – ‘perhaps if I did have a boyfriend I would understand’, you think?
No, I wouldn’t. There is a difference between PDA (Public Display of Affection) and the blockading of commuting passages with the interlocking of paws. Not that PDA isn’t rather vomit-worthy – first thing in the morning you don’t really want to see someones salivary amylase oozing from their mouth into their girlfriend/boyfriends, do you? The canoodling in the corners of the cabins, the bum pinches and the high-pitched giggles – yes, we can see you – you’re obviously head-over-heels in love, well done.
But I put up with it, because be that it has made me feel nauseous, it hasn’t made me late.
If you insist upon holding hands, do it considerately – go and sit on a bench.