*Disclaimer: not much about trains in here at all.
Two vulpine greeters dressed in sleek black take in my outfit from top to toe….
In which we think about the elusive and fickle nature of love.
“All wrong, all wrong!”
Well, great. Just what you want to hear whilst naked and vulnerable on a table.
LB and I descend into the pit down a flight of steep, wide steps and I laugh under my breath that it feels like we’re Cinderellas entering the ball. I’m not overexaggerating much. LB attracts male attention anywhere she goes and here men outnumber women at least five to one.
I am fuming. It’s half past ten on a steamy Thursday night and I’m miles from home on a terrifyingly overcrowded dark platform. The next train isn’t due for ages. The tube strike has broken London’s transport system and everyone is miserable. At least I’m not alone in that.
London’s not burning. It’s melting.