It happens to the best of us – one too many bottles of Archers Aqua and all of a sudden you’re in High Barnet, being dragged off a tube by an irate cleaner because it’s 1.30am and you’re an idiot. For some, though, passing out and waking up at the end of the line is considered a decent effort. Take the chap above, whose journey home was scuppered by the inconsiderate escalators at Tottenham Court Road station, which insisted on running in the opposite direction to his feet. Is this the most shameful post-pub commute of all time, or do you lot have even more woeful tales of when alcohol and public transport collide? Proposed marriage to a bus driver, maybe? Tried to get off with an Oyster card reader? David Clack
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