Showers

Just ten minutes home after the heavy rain surprised Golders Green like a pervy uncle and broke the points on the Northern Line. Half an hour in the tunnel 'tween Kings Cross and Camden Town and you'd think that the fuckers had never seen water before as the first rule for crisis management in the underground seems to be 'don't tell the punters anything about what's going on'. After we finally disembark on the High Barnet platform we all swarm to the Edgware side, sit on the train there for another twenty minutes before they announce they haven't fixed the problem at Golders Green and so aren't going anywhere. So, back to the High Barnet platform like we forgot something, on to a train to Kentish Town then wait on the platform there in the still heavy rain for the Saint Albans train. It's only fifteen minutes away but each second is like a friday afternoon geography lesson with the teacher who's wife left him on their wedding anniversary. I huddle under the stairs down to the platform and am entranced by the dozens of little streams of the water streaming down the steps, wishing I'd brought a camera. Behind me a man shuffles, then starts to take his trousers off. Once he's got them off he removes his shirt as well and stands there in the rain, thin, wiry and bollock-naked. He fishes a bottle of Head & Shoulders out of his bag and suds up, quite merrily taking advantage of fate's providence to have a al fresco shower. He's still at it five minutes later as my train pulls away from Kentish Town and I am slightly closer towards home.

In my bag I have the front door keys that one of my colleagues left behind at work. This annoys me because I'd like to pretend that I could call in sick tomorrow (I can't really because it's the last day before I go on holiday for a week and sickness immediately before or after a break requires an automatic Doctor's note) but now even the pretence would be ochre with the shame of not returning her keys to her.