On Thursdays and Fridays, because the Lovely Melanie isn’t at work and takes the girls to school, I go into work earlier. It’s a bloody nightmare, frankly, because I catch the tail-end of rush hour.
Today, London Bridge station was crazy. It took four trains passing through before I eventually squeezed onto one.
The third train came through packed solid with my fellow commuters, so I didn’t even try to get on.
“Are you getting this train?” asked the guy behind me, rolling his eyes.
I looked at him, looked at the wall of bodies in front of me, and raised an eyebrow.
He gave me a contemptuous look and tried to squeeze onto the train. After 30 seconds of trying, his arse blatantly sticking out of the doors, he admitted defeat and stepped back down onto the platform.
“And that’s why,” I said, smugly.
He moved and stood behind me once again.