Faaaaarkin’ hell!

What a tube journey!!

The whole thing started badly when I left work late which usually means I miss my train from London by literally one minute.

One. Whole. Minute.

I made it to the tube station, having successfully avoided black cabs and ninja cyclists, and attempted to enter the station. And when I say attempted, I mean attempted. It’s amazing how many people just stop dead when walking, or don’t know how to walk forward.

It’s not that hard; it’s the direction your fuck ugly face is pointing. Can we please fit these people with brake lights or, at the very least, indicators??

I managed to slalom these bungling bell-ends and get through the ticket barrier (which, interestingly, was the only thing that was reliable this evening). I then joined the escalator and started walking down on the left, which is the understood escalator etiquette on London’s underground network. I made it half way down when some twat stood on the right realised everyone on the left was walking down and decided to step out and join them, taking each step at the speed of dark. The stationary people on the right arrived at the bottom quicker.

Finally I made it onto the platform just as a train pulled in. “Result” I thought to myself as I jumped on.

The train then sat there for four minutes, which, on the underground, equates to about 3 weeks.

Finally we pulled off and we bumped, swerved and jiggled our way to my final destination. Great if the carriage was full of busty bikini clad girls.

It wasn’t.

The good news is…I could still make my train here.

We all got off. And it was at this point I was utterly and violently fascinated by the speed we all disembarked. It defies logic that people in a hurry….aren’t! It’s not because of bottle-necking or anything because I managed to wriggle through the plodding pillocks like a good looking knife through thuddingly dumb butter. I now know where George A. Romero got his inspiration, although his zombies would go hungry with the lack of delicious grey matter in the vicinity.

At last i made it to the final escalator and decided to opt for the left hand side walk up. This time no-one stepped out in front of me because they were all too bloody lazy, and they didn’t need to as the person in front of me was clearly struggling to climb the steps. Would it have been wrong to grab them by the shoulders, shove them to the right and exclaims “for fuck’s sake!!” Loudly as I stomp past? Hmm….possibly. I opted for silent rage.

I made it to the top, through the rest of George’s flock, through another non-obstructive ticket barrier and onto the conc…. onto the conc…. onto the conc…

Will you get out of the fucking way people!!!!

…onto the concourse. Jesus! It seemed no-one could walk in a straight line, or continue without stopping, or control their kids, or luggage, or their knuckles as they dragged along the floor.

It’s been an emotional journey and, oh look, I’ve missed my train by one minute.