I’ve just come back from London having had a great day out with one of my best friends, consisting of a picnic lunch, laughing ourselves silly over frappuccinos, and a delicious meal at one off her favourite haunts (pictured). Basically a whole day of us eating. However, the journey home was one of the most traumatising journeys of my life.
We’d been after dinner clothes shopping, because apparently in London the shops never close, and had to split up to take different tube stations to get home. Not all the underground lines stop at all the stations so this just made sense. My friend dropped me off at the end of a very long street that would take me straight to the tube and I nobly insisted that I could find my own way, knowing I would be adding a good half hour to her journey if I asked her to drop me off.
After a quick squeeze goodbye I was left on the dark London street slightly alone (apart from the stopped line of traffic that is constant to the capital). I found the tube station pretty easily, it was a literal straight road so even I’d have struggled to mess this one up, but due to engineering works the station was closed.
A night porter or whoever (he had a walkie talkie so was either attempting a tube station heist or worked there) told me some directions through the fence like shutters that I failed to hear. I nodded convincingly, turned away and went to walk in the direction he’d vaguely indicated.
This is when my resourcefulness comes in. I not only avoided crying but managed to find a bus going to my stop! Only took me twenty minutes! I was quite happy when I squeezed into the seat on the overground that would take me home, flicking open my book.
Sadly my quiet train home, snuggled up with a good book, was not to last. Mere moments before the train was going to leave the carriage became flooded with a troop of rave goers. They packed out the isle of the carriage, all noisy as they puffed smoke into the air. For a girl who had attended all girls, Catholic, boarding school this was a whole new level of terrifying.
The particular rave goer plonked down next to me was an aspiring lawyer doing her A levels. From her I learnt, well lets face it, everything I now know about raves. The ravers were very pleasant, they kept apologising and assuring me I’d be able to squeeze through and get off (I think I looked quite terrified). They all shuffled around to let me out at my stop and thought it was hilarious when I wished them a good wave as I left the train.
Not too bad a journey but I felt very relieved when I returned to my overly warm home (I’d left the heating on, sorry polar bears!). How about you? What’s the worst train journey you’ve ever had? Ever been a situation like mine? Feel free to comment below!