impossible to resist

About a month ago, London got a new mayor, a retired circus clown by the name of Boris Johnson who became popular for his gaffes, brain-atrophied comments and bushy blond hair. He was a funny man who exuded an air or irreverence, but to eject the incumbent of eight years, a closet lefty without obvious flaws that would make him unelectable this time around, Johnson had to turn serious. His focus on crime and housing and his general promise of change for the better won him the election.

The post of Mayor of London might be prestigious – after all, you're nominally running the greatest city in the world, if not the universe – but it's not particularly powerful. Areas under the Mayor's control are transport, culture, policing and services, all of which call for gentle managing of the general chaos that drives London. One of the Mayor's first initiatives was prohibition. Boris Johnson banned drinking on public transport, on buses and the tube.

When I heard about this at first, I was skeptical. While there are plenty of drunk people taking the bus, especially Fridays and Saturdays when bars and clubs close, I have never encountered problems with drinking people. The initiative sounded very much like a symbolic gesture rather than an ingenious plot to reduce crime and make public transport more reliable, safer and pleasant. Plus, there was something seriously wrong the way it was publicized, with large posters everywhere announcing June 1 as the first day of a new, dry era.

To me, all these signs were screaming party. Go out on the night of May 31 and party like it's the last day of your lives! I suggested that much to my friends but should have known I wasn't the only one with that idea. First quietly, then out in the open, tens of thousands were checking social networking sites to learn details of underground parties on Saturday night. Although the invitations called for stylish dress and relaxed sophistication, the event was destined to be taken over by riotous kids intent on a binge.

Though I stayed away, I fell victim to the chaos that developed as the night neared its apex. Down in Great Portland St. station on my way home I was greeted by a dark train sitting immobile on the other platform. It was empty of people but filled with trash. Bottles and cans were everywhere, and the platform itself was littered as well. It looked like some lower-division football game had just finished.

Pretty soon, an announcement came that due to vandalism and passenger incidents, services had been suspended on the Circle Line. Later I learned that Liverpool St. was shut down because of dense crowds of partiers who wouldn't let any regular customers through. It was probably inevitable from the beginning that what had started as jolly bash would degenerate into a rowdy mess, with bottles broken, puke on platforms, trains damaged and staff abused. Dozens were apparently arrested.

In the aftermath, the BBC was wondering whether this was a party to celebrate the end of drinking on the tube or to protest it. To me it's clear it was neither because no one besides the Mayor cares about drinking on public transport. His change of law simply provided an opportunity to party too good to pass on, and he is to blame for putting up all these irresistible posters, reminding people that it's ok to drink on the tube. If he had just quietly changed the rules, no one would have cared.