The Monday morning

The Monday morning and I will never be friends. We'll always remain passing acquaintances, with barely concealed hostility bristling beneath the surface whenever we meet. Sometimes this hostility spills over, and the Monday morning acts malevolently. Today, my alarm went off, but I fell asleep again shortly after turning it off. This isn't exclusive to Monday mornings, but I blame the Monday all the same. That hurdle dealt with, there was the all-too-familiar wardrobe crisis, and even though I managed to leave the flat on time, little did I know that I was heading for The Train Journey From HELL...

First, it was late, but that's nothing out of the ordinary, and it was rammed, again, no change there, but once aboard, I was sandwiched between an unfeasibly large woman with an equally unfeasibly large handbag, which she kept rummaging in, elbows akimbo (what she was hoping to find remains a mystery; nothing was actually pulled forth from the bag, but she kept up the rummaging throughout the journey), and a man who kept up an alternating routine of coughing, snorting, sniffing, and general germ spreading. He was also talking loudly on his mobile phone, which I suppose is a given, about the whole Russian ex-spy poisoning at the sushi bar. Quite the conspiracy theorist, this picture of ill-health was of the opinion that the ex-spy had poisoned himself. Just as I was mulling the likelihood of that over, a group of businessmen squashed up against the opposite door chimed in with their own theory: he was selling radioactive poison to his lunch partner, and had it in a glass vial. Which, according to the lead theorist in the group, 'He probably sat on!' They all then burst out laughing at the supposed irony of this. Hmm. Here's the latest from the BBC http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/6203464.stm the upshot: nobody knows anything...or they do, but they're not telling.

These musings on the poor man who died horribly continued whilst we were held up at London Bridge for a ridiculous amount of time, the reason given by the driver: 'trains are waiting to get into the station'. Oh, that's what it is. Lordy.

Finally ditched the man with the plague and the handbag lady at Charing Cross, went for the tube, and just caught the end of an announcement about delays on the line due to 'dust on the tracks'. I kid you not.

Anyway, I made it to work, as you can see, and as we've just passed noon, the Monday morning is officially over. I think a cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit are in order.