The schools have broken up and with them, half the non-essential workers in Christendom. Fantastic. Will make moving about London so much easier. She thought.
(You know what's coming next, don't you?)
Why is it, on schooldays, the bus takes thirty five minutes to get to Croydon, yet today it took an hour?
After my meeting I went to East Croydon station and was pleased to note that a train was due any minute. Although I was slightly perturbed that it was formed only of four carriages, not the usual eight or nine, or the highly desirable twelve, I was not too bothered - remember, the schools have broken up and half the essential workers with them. Not so happy when the PA system boomed into life with "We regret to announce that this train is reported as full and standing." Still, as it drew into the station, it clearly wasn't packed to the gunnels. I joined the queue at the door nearest to me, using my elbow tactically to dispel boarders - or, rather the woman who tried to push between me and the train. A woman sat just inside the door was complaining to the people in front of me. "Surely there are other doors on the train - can't you use the other doors?" A queue was formed at each door.
I managed to get inside, and realised that it would be impossible to reach the empty standing space because of the enormous suitcases lying in the aisle. One person managed to shout "Move down," and a couple of people got on behind me. Old bag (she was about my age, but an old bag) was still chuntering on about using other doors 'because of the amount of luggage in the carriage'. Oh, luggage randomly appearing in a bizarre act of god, or, in fact, luggage that had for the most part been plonked in the aisle by people recently arrived at Gatwick, cheapskates prepared to pay for a flight but won't use the Gatwick Express which has space to carry luggage. (When recounting this tale over lunch my colleagues suggested that I was being unreasonable - I protested my right to be unreasonable when I am being inconvenienced, besides these suitcases were enormous!). Old Bag Next th'Door had her own enormous suitcase sitting in a seat. A seat where I could have sat if it wasn't for the Very Large Suitcase. I tried to hold onto the luggage rack, but, being a very small blogger, it was difficult - my finger tips just managed to reach, but it was no way to support myself against the inevitable jolts and sways of the train. Instead I leaned against the Very Large Suitcase of Old Bag Next Th'Door, who kept glaring at me. I so wanted her to say something to me - I had my speech all rehearsed, perhaps something along the lines of "A modicum of meekness and humility would not be out of place from you." She didn't say anything. Another speech wasted! As an aside, looking round the carriage, I did wonder when the Railway By-law was abolished which said that children under five should not occupy a seat when fare-paying passengers are standing.
As I came out of the train at Covent Garden, there were repeated announcements that there are x (maybe 179, I'm not sure) stairs up, and this is the equivalent of a fifteen storey building, customers are strongly recommended to wait for the next available lift. Next to me was a mother and father and boys of 12 and 8, say. Mother asked how many the lift held. "All of us, no problem," I said. "Especially if people move in close. And if they don't, just shove." Eight year old looked at me in wonder and amazement, that lady is telling us to shove. So I turned to him, leaned down a little and conspiratorially said, "A few rugby tackles..." He giggled. His older brother helped me in shoving forward a few people taking up far to much space at the front of the lift - it was for the benefit of others...
After our team lunch I caught the Northern Line back. At Waterloo a man got on with a can of strong lager who was obviously quite lagered. He sat opposite me. He lunged at the woman next to him, who went and sat on the other side of her boyfriend. Drunk asked the man why she had moved - doesn't she like me? I think this couple were French or African and were trying to be polite in a bemused way, but were clearly uncomfortable with this guy. Next to me was a little girl, 4 or 5, with her mother, mid twenties, who was wearing a headscarf, probably Moslem. He leaned forward to the little girl and asked her if she was looking forward to seeing Father Christmas. The little girl moved closer to her mother who instinctively put a protective arm around her, drawing her in closer. The man tried the man on his other side, then, getting no reply, returned to the French/African man, who was looking increasingly awkward. "No eye contact," I thought, looking studiously into the next third-of-carriage, to the initial puzzlement of a man there who thought I was looking at him, but then noticed the drunk guy lurching in his seat.
As the train approached Kennington, the drunk guy, having failed to get my attention by calling me "Darling" or "Dear" or something, decided to attract it by pulling my trouser leg and rubbing my calf.
(Everyone who knows me has a tale to tell about going into one about inappropriate touching from strangers).
I went into one. Very dignified, entirely verbal. "How dare you touch me! You have no right to touch me. Don't ever touch me! Don't ever touch anyone like that!" He asked what he had done. "You're intimidating everyone around you."
We all got off at Kennington, because the train was terminating; he stumbles and falls over onto the other platform. Suddenly I'm surrounded by young men, one, an Aussie asking if I'm alright, and me explaining sheepishly it was nothing, he was intimidating other people, me I don't give a shit, and the man who was sat next to me, and the one opposite him (next to drunk guy) nodding vigorously backing me up. Just before the connecting train came again, the Aussie guy said he had reported the drunk guy to the station staff and the police had been called. Deeply embarrassed, I thanked the Aussie guy and explained about the couple and the mother with the young child.
I remembered in time that Brixton Station is closed for three weeks ("More Like Four" said an ole geezer when the announcement was made going home last Friday) for asbestos removal. I got out of Clapham Common and home without further incident.
The last few days before Christmas, the schools have broken up, and with them half the non-essential workers. Public transport is quiet.
