Like any relationship, my feelings towards London can be tested. The Monday morning sinking feeling, dipped to another level today with the prospect of crossing town in the midst of another tube strike. Without doubt, the only means of transport worth considering on a day like this is a bicycle and yet I was weighed down with an assortment of objects to take to my parents house in Kent. Doomed to catch the number 36 bus, I trudged towards the stand. Row upon row of double-deckers passed by, each one misty with a thin veil of respiration, concealing dozens of unhappy passengers wedged inside. At least those people had secured a coveted place on board. I was left stranded at the stop for 55 minutes simply because the 36 proved can be such an illusive beast. Finally, a bus arrived and I was on my way, sat beside a man whose heavy snoring lead me to believe he had been onboard a very long time. My choice of distraction for the journey was Scrabble on my iPhone. The 59p worth of entertainment proved to be money well spent as the computer and I silently battled with our consonants and vowels on this never ending ride. Like all nightmares the journey finally finished and I alighted at Victoria station. Hot, uncomfortable and running late, I entered the ticket hall and just as the curses aimed at traffic, congestion, and crowds began to form on my lips, I heard music. A warm, rousing sound filled the enclosure and drew me in. Standing together, blowing, their brass instruments was a band of musicians. In the foreground, armed with plastic containers stood a group collecting for the Multiple Sclerosis Society. All around them was chaos as passengers steamed towards the ticket machines, shops and coffee stands but the band played on. With their music came light, joy and my temper subsided with the tempo. I dropped a few coins into their bucket and went on my way with their tune humming in my head. This day was clearly about to get better.
No comments:
Post a Comment