Rucksacks

Look, arseholes, not only are rucksacks the container of choice for crazed looney suicide bombers, but they're a pain. Not a pain in the arse, at least not your arse, but a pain for the people you regularly and routinely smash into with them, as you blindly and unknowingly bash your way down the Tube carriage. Have you forgotten you have them on, or something? What gives you the right to jam your damn luggage in my face, just because you're too selfish or stupid to worry about where it is?

Buy a bloody briefcase. And throw away the stupid bottle of water attached to the aforementioned rucksack. This isn't the Kalahari and you don't need to carry supplies with you.