Blonde's Eye View: Phoneicide at Canary Wharf
Angela Clarke wonders who is the rudest of them all in E14
I often half-heartedly defend Canary Wharf during conversations. Yeah, yeah, soulless architecture, trains don't have drivers, haterz gonna hate.
But one thing makes me slam down my wine glass indignantly - the accusation that everyone in E14 is an evil corporate dark lord who eats small children for breakfast, after wrapping them in £50 notes and Instagraming it.
That's an untrue stereotype, I shout. There are good Wharfers. From a range of industries. We are nice. We'd rescue kittens from trees and we want world peace. I will defend our honour.
I may have been hasty. Because, and I think deep down, in my bruised shins, I've always known this - the Wharf has some of the most arrogant, presumptuous and (other words I'm trying to use instead of swearing) "people" in the world.
Canary Wharf is home to some of the biggest phalluses this side of a porn site.
They shove. They shout. They are Very Important.
One such pinstripe pollutant barrelled off a packed Jubilee line train like a bowling ball taking out commuter pins, promptly knocking my pal's phone from her hand.
It clattered onto the tracks, and the suicide doors closed. He murdered her mobile. He committed phoneicide. He's a menace to society and all those who check emails on the go, which is everyone.
His response to this heinous act? He tutted. He implied she brought the situation upon herself. She was three days without a phone because some jumped-up suit wouldn't wait.
It's time to rein these bad boys in. Let's launch a new award to be given to the rudest, crudest E14 ejit. Go online and nominate those who are bringing Wharfers into disrepute.
The winner will be awarded a big trophy; a Wharf Anchor (W. Anchor for short).
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