Taittinger on the Tube

I wish I had a photo. I love the Tube. I love Taittinger. How can I not love the boy drinking Taittinger on the Tube?

I was on my way home tonight - on one of the last Tubes I should probably mention (it's Monday) - and I saw some motion out of the corner of my eye. As engrossed as I was in Camus' The Fall I looked up to see what was happening, to be pleasantly greeted with the sight of a rather handsome-looking gentleman opening a brown leather wine case, lifting out a bottle of Taittinger and pouring himself a glass in a glass champagne flute.

Nicely done. Not crystal - which obviously would be a little OTT for the Tube - but a decent Sainsbury-variety glass flute.

Not being a doyen of discretion, he soon noticed my nonplussed stare and stared back. I broke the silence.

"Are you celebrating something," I inquired.

"Not really," he replied, looking a little embarrassed (which was kind of disappointing. I mean, if you're going to drink Taittinger on the Tube, at least have the decency to be proud of it!).

And then, he reached into that attractive leather case; his hand disappearing into that mysterious bag as I watched - captivated and curious - to see another flute appear.

"I've got another glass if you would like some too?"