It happened just the other day.
I was on my way home from visiting a friend and had managed to sit myself on the Tube opposite a woman who was smiling back. In fact, the extent to which she was smiling back was beginning to alarm me - either she actually did fancy me or I had managed my normal trick of accidentally drawing all over my face in green biro without noticing again.
There were only a few people in the carriage - me, her, and her four friends: two blokes and two women. They were Scandinavians of some description, and were alternately looking at me, then her, then me again, then laughing. She was young and pretty, but she was not my girlfriend, and I made a mental note to try not to smile at her again, which lasted about 30 seconds.
Attempting to focus on my crossword, I frowned furiously at it, craning my neck over and down, so as to ensure that I could no longer smile or be smiled at by anyone. The less it worked the more I tried, and I certainly wasn't getting anywhere with the crossword either.
The carriages on the Jubilee line of the London Underground seat 48 people and have standing room for as many as care to fit. If you are sitting in a largely empty carriage and 200 Americans get on, all at once, it is not going to be something you miss. They were all together, some kind of tour party on a night out, yelling, screaming, flirting, moaning, engaging in various other forms of more or less meaningful interaction and generally filling the carriage to above capacity. I *had* to look up.
As far as the eye could see in all directions there were Americans. They were all about my age or a little older, and seemed exclusively to be the kind of person you half recognise. Each one of them resembled someone I know or knew, without any of them actually being one. I stifled the urge to stand up and yell, 'Hey, was anyone here on the One Year Graduate Program in Jerusalem between 1994 and 1995,' as you do.
Then I caught the pretty girl's eye again. We both smiled broadly at each other. It was nothing to do with sex this time, but rather a kind of shared European identity hovered between us.
"And people wonder why Americans abroad are considered obnoxious," said one of the American women in a loud voice.
By the time the Scandinavians and I had finished laughing, the Americans had gone. At the next stop, the Scandinavians left also, leaving me alone for the long journey up to the other end of the line where I live, feeling somehow as empty as the carriage then was.
I had another bizarre encounter later that night when a man yelled 'Oy' to me from a distance of half a kilometre. We were in a park at the time and there was no-one else he could have been yelling at, but the guy disappeared into the night as suddenly as he had appeared, and I trudged on home.
How very British, I thought, and how very lonely. The truth is, I wished I'd been with the Americans. Of course, I couldn't possibly admit that to anyone. Not even you.
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