It's off to work we go

I really should go to bed earlier. Or stay in bed longer in the morning. I prefer the second option, but I doubt that the office will put up with me getting in around midday. Shame, really.

It had been my intention, prior to the move, to take advantage of the additional travel time each morning and evening to catch up on my reading. Sadly, it hasn't really panned out like that. In a morning (not every morning; sometimes I do get the book out), I tend to descend into a semi-doze until the Tube gets to Euston where I change from the Northern to the Victoria Line. This insulates me from having to look at the rest of the passengers, most of whom really don't bear to much scrutiny. On the way home of an evening, I more often than not have my face pressed into someone's armpit as we all dangle from the overhead grips while the driver chicanes us through the underground tunnels at warp speed. By the time the carriage has emptied sufficiently to allow me to breathe properly, and to sit down, I am generally too shell-shocked to read.

This has lead me to notice that things ain't what they seem on the Tube. Time and space is malleable, and is operated by the Goons.

I have noticed that on the Northern Line, the route and eventual destination of the train as given on the train itself is wrong about 50% of the time. I get on a train bound for Morden, on the Bank branch, and by the time I have arrived at Camden Town it has transmogrified into a train terminating at Kennington via the Charing Cross branch. It doesn't really matter, you understand, since all trains go through Euston, but on the Bank Branch the change to the Victoria Line is a simple walk across the platform, whereas on the Charing Cross branch it becomes necessary to wander around in tunnels full of tourists for six or seven minutes like a demented dwarf looking for the gold seam.

Heigh Ho.

It's off to work we go

I really should go to bed earlier. Or stay in bed longer in the morning. I prefer the second option, but I doubt that the office will put up with me getting in around midday. Shame, really.

It had been my intention, prior to the move, to take advantage of the additional travel time each morning and evening to catch up on my reading. Sadly, it hasn't really panned out like that. In a morning (not every morning; sometimes I do get the book out), I tend to descend into a semi-doze until the Tube gets to Euston where I change from the Northern to the Victoria Line. This insulates me from having to look at the rest of the passengers, most of whom really don't bear to much scrutiny. On the way home of an evening, I more often than not have my face pressed into someone's armpit as we all dangle from the overhead grips while the driver chicanes us through the underground tunnels at warp speed. By the time the carriage has emptied sufficiently to allow me to breathe properly, and to sit down, I am generally too shell-shocked to read.

This has lead me to notice that things ain't what they seem on the Tube. Time and space is malleable, and is operated by the Goons.

I have noticed that on the Northern Line, the route and eventual destination of the train as given on the train itself is wrong about 50% of the time. I get on a train bound for Morden, on the Bank branch, and by the time I have arrived at Camden Town it has transmogrified into a train terminating at Kennington via the Charing Cross branch. It doesn't really matter, you understand, since all trains go through Euston, but on the Bank Branch the change to the Victoria Line is a simple walk across the platform, whereas on the Charing Cross branch it becomes necessary to wander around in tunnels full of tourists for six or seven minutes like a demented dwarf looking for the gold seam.

Heigh Ho.