I am a flight person, i.e. I want to stick to the walk-able distances from my house and work from home and let the world duke it out. But sometimes that's not possible... I.e. my day job seems to have a more 'bums on seats' mentality. A lot of places do, spurring a cold, hard case of presentee-ism.
So, I made it... schlepping from a corner of North East London to a corner of South West London, I wasn't sure I would make it, but here I am. And for those of you (Kansas City, home-town friends I'm looking at you) who have never experienced this, this is what it feels like...
|This scene from Godzilla (1998) is not far |
off from today's commuter experience
Luckily there was still a skeletal tube system on offer, slow and intermittent, overcrowded like the typical sardine-can metaphor.
I was lucky enough to get a seat, but ended up sitting next to a guy who actually urinated on the floor whilst sitting next to me (and yes, I was fast to pick my pink leather bag up off of the tube floor) the miniature yellow rivers trickling ever-closer to my suede, ankle boots; smells filtering through the carriage. Good morning, Britain!
The mile-or-so walk from West Brompton involved, getting totally lost, stumbling onto a construction site in conjunction with icy gales of wind hailing South from the Scottish Highlands. Oh to be indoors sipping Scotch and nibbling shortbread next to a fireplace with a hound at my feet.
|This man looks very pleased |
to be cooking me up for dinner
If Tube Strike = Lord of the Flies then I'm yesterday's BBQ.