Sleeping on the underground

When I'm on the train, it's usually very early in the morning or after a long day at work. So, I fall asleep, a lot. It can be on people, against things or with wild spasms and sleep talk that terrify the unsuspecting. 

The London underground is like a second bed to me. I can fall asleep squashed between two gigantic strangers, while a teenager blares terrible music from their iPhone. I can fall asleep with a man that smells like foot cheese on one side and a man that's talking loudly into a phone on the other. If you jab me with your elbow, it won't make any difference. If you put your newspaper up for protection, I will probably fall onto the newspaper. In short, I'm just really, really annoying.

Falling asleep onto people

The thing about riding the London Underground is, it's incredibly crowded and the seats are small. Luckily on the district line there are chair dividers, and if I manage to sit at the end of a row there's a 50/50 chance I'll fall onto the side of the train instead of onto you. If I fall onto you, jabbing me sometimes helps but mostly I've evolved past feeling it now.

Snoring

Sometimes I'm so tired that I will snore on the underground and wake myself up with a loud noise, then realise it's me making it, and that everyone around me is glaring at me because I have broken the silent, unspoken rule of the morning and evening tube commute: Nobody move, nobody speak.

Talking in my sleep

The worst case of this was on my way back from work one time, I woke with a start and most of the people in the carriage were staring and laughing at me. An Italian man opposite made eye contact with me and said 'You love sleep, you love sleep!' Over and over again. Clearly, I was expressing my love for sleep to a carriage full of strangers, as you do.

Wild hand spasms

Most of the time when I fall asleep on the tube, I don't mean to do it. I am usually doing something and fall asleep in the middle of it. This means I'm holding something. The natural response to sleep is to loosen your grip, but I remain conscious enough to know that I'm doing this, even though I'm powerless to stop it. The result is an insane-looking dance where my hands loosen then tighten and the thing I am holding, usually my phone or Vita, moves crazily in a wild threat to drop and smash into pieces. Couple this with the head bobbing and accidental lunges forward, and I look like a failed Frankenstein who was half electrocuted into life.
So if you come across me on the London Underground, I apologise in advance. It's wise to pick the opposite side of the carriage, instead of sitting by me and hoping for the best.