The Northern Line.

I have no desire to live out in Barnet, Whetstone or Woodside Park. Though I sometimes envy those who do. Because while we who board the tube later at Highgate, Archway or Kentish Town always have to stand, they’re smugly seated, already reading their copies of the Daily Mail. This morning, I became obsessed with getting a seat so I walked twenty minutes in the opposite direction to get on earlier at East Finchley. There at least there’s a 50/50, rather than a 0/100 chance of securing a seat. And I got lucky. I bagged the last one in the carriage and settled down to read my book. When the train arrived at Highgate, I saw a a familiar figure on the platform. My wife had left for work later than me and, to my horror, got into my carriage. Can you guess what I had to do next?