The Tube

When I moved to London, I spent the first 3 months or so resembling every tourist that ever visits Britain's capital - I was fascinated by the Tube.

I couldn't quite get my head round the idea that here was a fully fledged railway, underground, in the dark, with long-closed stations, mysterious sidings and an army of workers who dedicated their late nights and weekends to keeping it running.

Gradually though, I became a Londoner like everyone else. I stopped staring at the tube map in awe, I stopped enjoying looking out of the train windows at the mile upon mile of cables running in dark, tight tunnels and I stopped being curious about how it could all ever really work.

Instead, I started to become annoyed by the delays, frustrated at having to bend my body in any number of ways to fit on the carriage and tired of playing flank forward in a game of rugby every time I wanted to get on or off at rush hour.

In short, I forgot how wondrous and marvellous and unique the Tube actually is.

But then, last week, something rekindled my intrigue and love of the tube - I got on a brand new train on the Victoria line. Not only was it incredibly well lit, bright, welcoming and (most important of all) spacious, but it was smooth and there was no shrieking noise as it went round corners.

This prompted me to crack out the trusty Wikipedia and do a bit of research. Apparently, we've had the same trains on the Victoria line ever since it first opened. In 1967. That means they've been pounding the line between Brixton and Walthamstow for 43 years. That's almost twice my age, which frankly is frightening and yet marvellous at the same time.

Now though, they're finally about to enjoy their retirement. And good luck to them, because they've earnt it.