what's to stop people pushing each other off the platform?

I went to Essex uni today. Upon arriving at the uni we were greeted by the sight of two of the giant, 15 storey accomodation blocks. They were BLACK. In between them was a giant luminous greenhouse.
"Daddy..." I whispered, "It looks like Mordor..."
Then, a few seconds later, my student instinct kicked in.
"Daddy..." I whispered, "They've got a GANJ FARM in there!"

I then proceeded to an audition workshop, where I became 1/4 of a giant spider in an experimental pantomime parody, and went for a tour of the campus. After cramming myself into a lift full of about 8 other people (see the bottom of this post for my feelings on small spaces, including lifts) in one of the Mordor towers, I noticed a sign.

In the event of the lift becoming stuck, press the help button once every thirty seconds. This will alert the caretaking staff and help will soon arrive. DON'T PANIC.

Don't panic? Is this some kind of subtle, ironic Essex humour? I'm panicking already, you swines!

Later, I found out that accomodation in the towers consists of 14 people sharing two kitchens, two showers and two toilets. The lift seemed positively welcoming after that.

*******

I also spent a lot of time observing commuters on the Underground. Rats in drainpipes, army ants, lemmings... Dangerous species, commuters. They power walk and power talk and even power drink their coffee through those stupid beaker things, and they read all the while. I'm amazed. I can only read broadsheets when I spread them out on the living room floor and use all ten fingers AND some toes.

These people read them one handed while they're moving. Last time I read whilst walking, I walked into a lamppost and it HURT.

This one woman was strutting along, book in one hand, coffee in the other, wearing KITTEN HEELS of all things, not looking where she was going. She powered ahead of the crowd, round some corners and got to the platform at Bank just before we did. She then proceeded to power-read her way to within inches of the yellow line of doom, where she stopped dead. When the train pulled in, it turned out that she'd stopped exactly where the doors would be.

That, ladies and gents, was a lady in need of a holiday. And maybe a guide dog. As much faith as I'm sure she has in her abilities to navigate with her nose in a Dan Brown novel, I worry for her. Honestly, who walks towards the edge of a platform without looking where they're going?

You should know that I navigate the Underground the way a guerilla navigates open countryside: furtively, sticking close to the edges. I flinch whenever a train hurtles past, I don't so much stay behind the yellow line as risk sudden death by backing right through the wall and past the yellow line on the opposite platform. And, by sweet Moses, do I mind the gap.

I'm not a big fan of the Underground. I'm mildly scared of trains, intensely wary of the dark and very claustrophobic. I'm also a masochist. What can I say? Lemmings and recycled air just thrill me.

I'm listening to: Take my hand, Dido.
I'm feeling: Ok. I'm good at the mo, but I was very down on Sunday. Thought I should record that for posterity.
Quote of the day: "All the world's a stage" - William Shakespeare (or Webster, he wrote something very similar), painted on the wall of the Lakeside Theatre at Essex.