By Suzanne Coulson @thesuzycblogspot | Illustration by @katiestewartartist
The Metro is full of weird and wonderful people, isn’t it? Stay on long enough and you’ll feel the shift in energy depending on where someone boards or bails. It’s like a social map on rails.
The train might trundle steadily along the tracks, but a trip on the Metro is an emotional rollercoaster. Kingston Park, Regent Centre, Northumberland Park – a nice steady jaunt. Shiremoor, West Monkseaton, Cullercoats – the climb, where butterflies brew in anticipation for any radge packets alighting. Jesmond to Ilford Road? Anyone’s guess. But Shields to Byker? That’s a stomach – roll of a drop where worlds collide and you’re in the belly of north-of-the-river radginess.
One day you’re awkwardly nodding along in a one-sided conversation with a topless bloke clutching four cans in a carrier bag Roy Cropper would be proud of; next you’re opposite an introvert refusing to make eye contact.
Every night, I strap in after another day funding a life I barely have time to live. And now, with a dash of perimenopausal intolerance and a sprinkle of overstimulation, I’ve entered my radgie era.
As I move to alight at Shiremoor, I clock them – a swarm of kids pelting down the ramp, in the staple charva starter pack: black hat, black jacket, black tracksuit. Now I’m not anti – charvas-on-the-Metro; I am anti – divvy! One of them, with a fake Canada Goose, a strawberry blonde perm and head to toe black clothing – Shiremoor’s answer to the Milk Tray man.
Doors beep. Green light. The Squid Games begin, and I’m ready. This bin – bagged 5ft nowt featherweight walks straight into me as if I don’t exist.
Not tonight, sunshine. I don’t move. He looks up – all noise and no weight – yaps something unintelligible, and after a short stand – off and the realisation that if he wants to get on, I’ve got to get off – he shuffles aside.
But he can’t help himself. As I’m walking off, he’s got to show off, hasn’t he? Shouting the odds and called me a fat naka. I chuckle to myself. Not just at the insult itself, but this kid was a turkey twizzler dinner away from his clothes needing to be bought from Jacamo. Least I’m over 40 and birthed two kids! What’s his excuse!
He infuriates me. As the doors begin to close and I’m a safe distance on the platform, I offer him out with a firm Geordie favourite: ‘Howay then!’
He looks shooketh that this 5 foot 10 fat naka spoke back and makes a half – baked effort to get through the doors (I expect more to save face in front of his mates than to actually have a go) but I hold stoic nonetheless.
The doors close and my dignity remains intact. Someone behind me chuckles and with a wink says, ‘You got them doors just in time didn’t you, pet. Well played.’
As I trundled up the platform it got me thinking – for every div there’s always an unseen ally – a smiling stranger – a quiet comradery. And while moments like this can give you a laugh or a story to tell, not everyone finds it funny when they’re on the receiving end and not everyone is able to time the doors as I to prevent a ruckus. Metro now have an initiative to report antisocial behaviour — you can call, text or scan the QR codes onboard if you see it happening. Sometimes standing your ground is enough, but it’s good to know there’s backup when you need it.
Metro passengers can now ‘Report it to Sort it’ by texting REPORTIT to 66777.
In the event of an emergency you should still call 999 or 101 for non – emergency situations which require police presence.
