Central Line tonight, a young man sitting opposite. Somewhere around St. Pauls, he begins mouthing words to himself, as if in prayer.  Fair enough.  Gazing idly about, my eyes fall upon a small group who appear to be Chinese tourists. They too seem to be silently muttering to themselves.  A little surreal.  No evidence of iPods for them to be quietly singing along to.
Then they all stop, more or less at once.

Next to the first muttering man, a young woman.  She opens her bag, and fishes out a Boots' paper bag. From it she produces a white cardboard box, which rather proudly and prominently bears the words, "Derbac M" in an unnecessarily lurid font.  She begins reading the instructions, occasionally leafing through an English/Hungarian dictionary.

A happily drunk chap in his thirties sits down next to a yonger man who is reading a book, and says, "Ish that a good book? Are you enjoying it? What'sh it about?"  The younger man, to my moderate astonishment (and respect at his show of humanity), puts down his book, and enters into an amiable conversation with the drunkard.