It was around the time someone mentioned rats that I started to worry.
We had been stuck on the tube for more than half an hour by this point, lodged uncomfortably on the northern line in the tunnel between Camden and Chalk Farm.
The driver, helpfully, informed us over the tannoy “that we aren’t moving at this time”. Really? Hadn’t noticed.
Oh Tfl, what a time to have a power failure. Saturday night, with Halloween upon us. It wasn’t the last train but it was close enough, and there were dozens of worse for wear passengers including an inebriated ‘priest’. A few of the brighter sparks decided it would be a great idea to go to the back of the train for a cigarette, at which point a conscientious woman in my carriage decided she didn’t want to “testify in the inquest” and went to inform the driver.
Some 20 minutes later, our fate would be revealed. Hi Ho, Hi Ho, it’s down the train tracks we go. Ever planning on walking down a London underground tunnel? I’d recommend you don’t do it in heels. These boots were not made for train breakdowns.
Eventually back to Chalk Farm, hoisted up with the help of some friendly Fire folk (not on strike this week). Out the station, into a chaotic world where the night buses were so full they weren’t up for stopping, and where taxi drivers turned down a group so desperate for a ride they’d have paid well above the odds for the privilege.
Just another Saturday night in London, really.