Cabaret on the Central Line (1st August 2018)

A drunken young man on the tube called to the woman squeezing herself invisible against the glass partition.  'I know you can hear me!'. She nodded meekly. He got up from seat and lurched towards her. I looked to his companion, whose eyes were locked dead ahead with resigned fury. The drunk begged the woman to help save him from boredom. 

Within moments the mood shifted. She was giving him a wobbly high five and chuckling along as he gave a powerful mid-show review of this - his official best night ever. 

Bewildered Germans got on board at Liverpool Street and he greeted them as a Cabaret MC thirsty for their audience. They too were won over by this strange, flamboyant friendliness. He commanded the carriage to test him on a boast of speaking seven languages and, to my ear at least, he could successful juggle five or six conversations with impressed tourists at once. Ears pricked up, chatter hushed and soon almost all eyes were turned towards him. Some glanced to his stony-faced companion, straining under a all-consuming need for his friend to shut up and sit down. 

After twirling on the central pole, Mr Cabaret asked a woman with a limp grey ponytail if she would join him for an after-party. When she politely declined he called to an elderly and (until now) quietly dour old man, 'She's too young! They're all too young to understand, they just don't party like we do!'. The old man's faltered a moment having being called unexpectedly into the show, and then laughed. He shuffled over slightly to join the rest of the enraptured pack. Another meek woman he brought into the fold with - 'And have you met my wife? It's been a strained marriage, she pretends she doesn't even know me. HOW COULD YOU!?' Each was not embarrassed but warmed by his sudden spotlight. 

As I write I realise that to all the world he appears to be the most annoying tit to ever disgrace public transport but for some magical reason he was loveable. Perhaps it is because he believed  he was and commanded his show with the absolute conviction that everyone else thought the same. And they did. Except one. 

He called to his friend "Oh CAN'T we go to a party in Essex with everyone, they ALL want me!"

"STRAT. FORD'

"What? You see that's miene liebe. Ti amo miene liebe!" The audience appraised the MC's stony-faced boyfriend with weak smiles. 

The boyfriend didn't turn his head, 'WE'RE GETTING OFF AT STRATFORD'. 

And so it was settled. But an ever-so-slight smile betrayed the grump he watched his lightning bolt of a boyfriend encourage twenty disconnected strangers and a formally withdrawn old man to join him in a rendition of 'I like to move it'. 

I'm on Twitter @theroryjohn