While this week in February I
love adore London, I found this post in my drafts from a few weeks ago which has me half entertained, half in absolute despair…ahhhh the week that was…well, simply awful.
When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life
Actually Mr Johnson, I disagree. When a man is tired of London, he is absolutely bone crushingly exhausted… frustrated… sad… angry… alone… stressed… sore… anyway, you get my drift (oops).
This week has been the worst of the worst. While I’ve been counting down the days till I reach number 365 of life in London, I couldn’t possibly be enjoying London less than I currently am. My dear reader, if you’re sitting on Samuel Johnson’s side of the fence, here’s a recap for you – I’ll let you decide whose views on being tired of London you agree with…
〉Monday: I was horrendously sick – for all you Kiwi’s who don’t get why this would be any harder than it is at home, being sick in a London winter really is just nek level. I realised I had lost my pre-loaded monthly oyster (while drunk in the weekend to really kick ya when you’re down) and had to
spend waste my precious (minimal) spending money on a return trip to zone 3. Oouch.
〉Tuesday: Still horrendously sick, no Oyster and now no debit card?! Flatmate was away so an SOS call was made to another Flossie for some cold hard cash for my commute (goodbye £12, hello work – worst exchange ever). NB a paper return ticket from Finsbury Park to Wimbledon does not allow you to change at Vauxhall and get the train the rest of the way. Backtrack to Victoria for the District line it was for me. UGH. Tube then changed its destination while I was on it – of course. What else could go wrong?! Oh, once finally in Wimbledon the bus stop was out of action, so I had to walk the one mile HILL to the office in the rain, wind and cold.
〉Wednesday: Wednesday actually went quite smoothly but I was still sick and not taking time off. I also felt like I had a commute induced hangover and scorned by lady London.
〉Thursday: Still sick, worse than before thanks to the addition of a raging fever. I woke up 26 minutes after I would usually have left the house…ummm sh&*. Ran out the door in a mismatched outfit, last nights knickers, hair in the air, dredges of the previous days mascara under my eyes and creases from my pillow embedded on my cheeks. The unimaginable then happened; the Victoria line was suspended while we were stuck underground between Euston and Warren Street. I changed to the Northern line when I could, which was then also suspended – obviously?! This is where I cried on the tube – while standing underneath a very hairy, slightly overweight mans armpit may I add. The struggle is real. I made my way to the northbound Victoria line begging it to take me home to work from the comfort of my couch.
Work wasn’t exactly happy – but neither was I.
What a week.
Happy one year Anniversary – you still suck at it!