London calling - Going down the tubes
The tube strikes turn Joe Fountain's return to town into a nightmare
Is there anything worse than coming back to town after a three-week holiday to find that the little summer there has been is well and truly over, and that temperatures have already dropped enough to warrant two or more layers of clothing rather than a vest and a pair of flip flops? (And I haven't mentioned going back to work here!)
Yes, there is: It's called a tube strike - one that I didn't know about until a day before and which thankfully didn't last as long as it was supposed to. Well, I heard last night that even though it has been called off, there's still not been a solution to the problem, which means there will probably be a few more over the next couple of weeks. Joy!
Even though I am lucky to work for a company that gives us all cab money to get to and from work in this sort of situation, it still didn't make my commute to work any easier. On Tuesday, day one of the strike, the journey to work that usually takes me 40 minutes door to door (that's when the trains are on time, and everything is working as it should - which is not always the case) each way took a total of three hours and 45 minutes!
And I had it all so perfectly organised! In the morning, the cab I had booked from what is usually a very reliable company never turned up, so I had to go out into the street to see if I could find a black one - which in times like this is a bit like looking for gold paving the city's streets. When I did get one, the traffic was so bad that it took us half an hour to get out of Islington. You can imagine the darkness of my mood by the time I got to the office.
At the end of the working day, having spent most of it trying to get through to the cab company to a) scream at them for not turning up and b) try and organise my way back home, I thought the best idea would be to just sit on the bus that goes straight from work to home and just stare out of the window and watch the world go by. Wrong! The journey home was even worse, and ended with an argument with the bus driver who wouldn't open the door for me when, after an hour into the journey, I decided to just get off and walk home since that was going to be the quickest and least claustrophobic way to get home. This really is the time when I miss the old Routemaster buses - which you could jump off and onto with no hassle whatsoever.
Even though I hate the Underground with a vengeance, and I consider it to be the most depressing and inhuman way to start the day, it's at times like this that one realises that in spite of all its many defects it's actually the most convenient and quickest way around town.
Yes, there is: It's called a tube strike - one that I didn't know about until a day before and which thankfully didn't last as long as it was supposed to. Well, I heard last night that even though it has been called off, there's still not been a solution to the problem, which means there will probably be a few more over the next couple of weeks. Joy!
Even though I am lucky to work for a company that gives us all cab money to get to and from work in this sort of situation, it still didn't make my commute to work any easier. On Tuesday, day one of the strike, the journey to work that usually takes me 40 minutes door to door (that's when the trains are on time, and everything is working as it should - which is not always the case) each way took a total of three hours and 45 minutes!
And I had it all so perfectly organised! In the morning, the cab I had booked from what is usually a very reliable company never turned up, so I had to go out into the street to see if I could find a black one - which in times like this is a bit like looking for gold paving the city's streets. When I did get one, the traffic was so bad that it took us half an hour to get out of Islington. You can imagine the darkness of my mood by the time I got to the office.
At the end of the working day, having spent most of it trying to get through to the cab company to a) scream at them for not turning up and b) try and organise my way back home, I thought the best idea would be to just sit on the bus that goes straight from work to home and just stare out of the window and watch the world go by. Wrong! The journey home was even worse, and ended with an argument with the bus driver who wouldn't open the door for me when, after an hour into the journey, I decided to just get off and walk home since that was going to be the quickest and least claustrophobic way to get home. This really is the time when I miss the old Routemaster buses - which you could jump off and onto with no hassle whatsoever.
Even though I hate the Underground with a vengeance, and I consider it to be the most depressing and inhuman way to start the day, it's at times like this that one realises that in spite of all its many defects it's actually the most convenient and quickest way around town.