Eugh, this morning I took ... the tube.
With Reg in the shop I had no option. I managed to cadge a lift to the local Piccadilly line station and climbed aboard for a three-stop ride.
First I realised I had no money on my Oyster card, so I duly topped it up before stepping through the gates. I near slid down the stairs coated in the muddy slime of thousands of shoes before getting onto the platform. What met me was a scene reminiscent of Shaun of the Dead. Zombified commuters stood around looking depressed and avoiding each others' eyes. Many were shuffled near the edge of the covered section ready to dash though the raindrops in an attempt to reach the less crowded carriages once the train arrived. I joined them.
The train came in, already packed and with windows steamed up with the germs of those inside. The mass clamber began as people tried, with forced, and very British, politeness to push past each other and get to the slightly emptier carriages.
I managed to get on and memory served me with the method for folding a Metro twice to get it as tiny as possible so you can read it without bumping anyone.
At the next station more and more people oozed into the carriage until you couldn't actually move. Then at Acton Town an announcement said the train on the opposite platform was leaving first. Cue a mad dash to cross the four metres of wet asphalt with men in suits battling teenagers in skinny jeans. I stayed where I was knowing from my dark commuter past that it only saves about two minutes in the long run and I only had one stop to go.
I got to Hammersmith and joined the queue to climb the stairs. I escaped the tube and limped into McDonalds exhausted by it all.
God I miss my bike.