For those about to eat sushi, we salute you

A week ago I caught a train to Nottingham. Inter City trains, as I insist on still calling them, are my favourite. Travelling by train is one experience that hasn't yet been utterly destroyed, if you travel at the right time and avoid carriages full of people shouting into their phones.

I like to surround myself with tea, newspaper, book, pen, notepad, music player, and Nintendo DS, so that there is little danger of boredom or human interaction - and then spend the journey looking out of the window.

This time, however, my fellow train-users (What are rail companies calling them these days - Passengers? Customers? Consumer units?) were more interesting than the Bedfordshire countryside, and so I spent the journey watching them instead.

First up were a Turkish couple with a poodle. In truth I have no idea if they were actually Turkish, but I would confidently place them in that 5,000 mile radius. They were a bit foreign looking. The poodle was silent and haughty and seemed to be in charge. Fucking poodles. On the next table was a businessman. He looked like an adult, the way people younger than me now look. He had a shiny suit, a laptop and an ipod. He was all set for his journey. He was looking out of the window.

Interrupting this peaceful scene, a crowd of geek metallers arrived, kicking the Turkish(?) couple out of their seats, waving their pre-booked ticket stubs in insistent authority. They had been reserved for METAL.

If trains aren't full - and this one wasn't enormously so - I don't understand why people are so determined to sit exactly where their reservation commands them to. I guess it's down to a love of order, or fear of MILD EMBARRASSMENT

In any case, the poodle was moved on, last seen heading towards the buffet car, and the geek metallers made themselves comfortable, with a seemingly endless stream of black t-shirted longhairs continuing to arrive, like a column of hairy ants. They took up the poodle table, and spilled over to take the three remaining seats of the businessman's table. He was marooned in a sea of rock.

I watched his reaction as they sat down. He was silently furious.

He retreated into his electronic people-ignoring armoury.

The geek metallers were lovely, as such people tend to be. Their t-shirts featured bands, giant manga robots and programming jokes. Their long lank hair was entrapped in pony tails, for now was not yet time to rock. That time would come later - they were on their way to the download festival.

They had one token not-quite-metal-yet friend, whose apprentice status was highlighted by his non-black t-shirt. He had much to learn, and listened intently to his would-be peers.

There was also a token girl.

Settling into their journey, they started talking about the soundsystems of London venues. One, located in Elephant & Castle, was deemed the most metal.

"One time it was so loud it made my nose vibrate, and set off a sneezing fit!"
"Wow! You were fucking nose raped!"

They ate sushi and drank supermarket lager. They also had lots of acoustic guitars.

Acoustic guitars are totally not metal.