I'd rather walk home than get the Northern Line (and let's face it, at the moment it would be quicker)

This week, the Northern line has taken that resignation, stamped on it, and told everyone to be grateful it is still called a service at all (and it's really not).

“Minor delays” is now so detached from reality it might as well be performance art. There is nothing minor about a system that grinds to a halt the moment something goes slightly wrong.

One signal fault at Camden, one late train at Mordon, one tiny issue, and suddenly half of south London is trapped on platforms watching packed trains roll through like they are actively avoiding eye contact.

This is not bad luck. It is a network running so close to breaking point that it only takes the smallest nudge to send it spiralling. And yet the messaging never changes.

Still “minor”. Still “good service on the rest of the line”. Still treating commuters like they will just nod along while their journey quietly disintegrates.

And if you dare ask what’s actually going on, you’re often met with a level of indifference that borders on hostility, as if requesting a basic explanation is some kind of personal affront rather than the bare minimum of customer service on a failing network.

And the moment someone asks a question, you get a pointed glance at the “zero tolerance for abuse” posters, which is fair enough in principle, but most people are not looking for a fight, they just want a straight answer to two very basic questions: what’s gone wrong, and when is it actually going to be fixed.

Then you get to the platforms. And the station I use daily, Clapham Common, with its island setup, is less a station and more a pressure cooker.

Thousands of people squeezed into a narrow strip, all trying to board trains that are already full. The idea of queuing, that fragile bit of British order we cling to, lasts about three seconds before survival instincts take over.

And that is where it turns ugly. The pushing, the cutting in, the casual selfishness. People forcing their way on without letting others off, edging past anyone who looks like they might hesitate, ignoring basic decency. Watching someone barge past a pregnant woman for a spot on a train tells you everything about what happens when the headphone commuter mindset sets in.

And then there’s the bit that really makes me think the world has gone a tad mad, the people I recognised. Same faces, same time, every day, bumping through the barriers without paying like it is part of their routine.

But, this week, even they seemed miffed. One of the regulars joined the queue with everyone else… waited their turn… and then just bumped through anyway.

It is almost impressive in a bleak sort of way. Queue etiquette observed, rules still ignored. A kind of moral half-measure where you get the satisfaction of doing things properly right up until the moment you decide not to.

Seriously, have a word.

Which brings us neatly to last week. The entire network disrupted because drivers were on strike. Officially it was about working conditions, technology, rostering. Unofficially it felt like an argument over iPads, screen sizes, and not wanting to stretch beyond a roughly 32-hour working week.

Meanwhile, plenty of the rest of London has clocked up something close to that just standing on platforms waiting for trains that never quite appear or when they do stop two stations short.

And this is the worst bit. During that strike, the Northern Line was much better. Fewer trains, yes, but at least it was explained and you knew where you stood. You planned around it.

This week, we have had the illusion of a full service paired with the reality of constant failure. It is the difference between being told the truth and being slowly gaslit by a departure board.

Transport for London does not just have a reliability problem. It has a credibility problem. A network this critical to the functioning of the city cannot afford to operate on wishful thinking and soft language.

Londoners aren't asking for miracles. We're asking for a system that does not collapse under the weight of its own “minor” problems, for basic standards of order to be maintained, and for the people running it to stop pretending that chaos is anything less than what it is.

And really, all I want is for the staff to tell me what is happening, instead of ignoring me.

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