My body woke me at half hourly intervals between 3 and 6am this morning. So much for the idea of a finely tuned body clock.
After gathering clothes, bag, coat, key and telephone, I made it out of the house and started on the journey to the train station. I walked with my ears full of Dar Williams, and watched the first light of the day cast long shadows throughout the victorian streets of Marlow.
I would like to say that the journey into London passed off uneventfully this morning but it did not. Upon arrival at Paddington station - at about ten past eight - the underground was closed. As I registered this, I also noticed that there were police in evidence everywhere.
“Never mind… I’ll have a cup of coffee”, I thought, and started walking towards one of Paddington’s nicer Cafs. That’s when I spotted the police tape sealing up the entire commercial area of the station. Okay - perhaps I should listen more closely to the station announcements in future.
I began wandering towards the taxi rank - along with several thousand other people. The queue for taxis was about three hundred deep, and getting deeper by the moment. While waiting it struck me that the british are really rather good at waiting in line. Nobody was complaining - an almost Italian shrug had descended on the mayhem of the stadium-like taxi rank.
The rumour mill of the taxi queue indirectly informed me that the underground station had been closed due to a fire, and that the commercial area had been closed off due to an unknown lorry full of chemicals being parked behind the station.
After a few minutes a portly chap in a yellow tabbard accosted me - “Would you mind sharing a taxi with others sir?”
“Sorry? Why?”
“If you will share a taxi you can go straight to the front of the queue…”
I snatched the yellow “admit one” taxi share card from his hand, and started the walk past well over a hundred people who didn’t want to share their taxi. I can understand why some might not, but there seemed to be far too many people who were taking the concept of privacy to a ridiculous level. Their loss.
Upon arriving at the front of the line, I was crammed into a cab along with 5 others heading for Liverpool Street. Off we set - myself, a rather pretty young thing originally from Henley, a portly woman from Newcastle, a charming father of three from Scotland, and a career businesswoman of no determinate origin in a rather sharp pinstripe business suit.
During our enforced half an hour spent in each other’s company the wonderful side of human interaction came out. Despite mixed backgrounds, apparent social standing, perceived aloofishness (is that a real word?), we all somehow got on, and the conversation flowed non-stop until our respective destinations arrived. Nobody introduced themselves. We just talked. We communicated. We shared some of each other’s time.
The rest of the day was somewhat of an anticlimax after the eventful taxi journey. Most of it was spent in a frustrating spiral of annoyance and stress while trying to glue several thousand lines of programming together in such a way that they actually worked. By late afternoon I had thrown my hands in the air and admitted defeat. I left the offices and London for the day. I will have to return.
After a highly unusual journey home where the trains all connected with each other, I made good time and have had some semblence of an evening for the first time in several days. Curiously, I am on edge this evening though. Perhaps I will only relax properly after a return (read:rescue) visit to the client on Friday.