Next stop Redhill

A pleasant day of wandering in Notting Hill, despite significant transportation challenges. Much of the underground service was suspended today, and many buses were operating as a (poor) substitute for trains.

The consequence of this was a lot of time spent hanging around on windswept platforms at train stations, exposed to travelling freaks. Changing trains at Gatwick on the way back to home base, I raced to board the connecting train at Platform 1. Although the train was still there, the doors refused to open and the lucky people inside stared smugly out at me while it began, with infinite slowness, to pull away.

I was left behind in the gloomy dusk to wait 25 minutes for the next train. Even though I had my headphones on (the universal symbol for 'don't speak to me'), a middle-aged woman in a leopard-print headscarf approached me. She appeared to be wearing a lot of shiny vaseline around her eyes, which meant that her mascara was unable to cling to her eyelashes in the usual way. Black segments of mascara like spider legs were making their way off her eyelashes and around the rest of her face.

Mascara Lady was going to Redhill and wanted to know from me whether the next train would be going there, even though the ticket office had advised her of this, a voice over the PA was announcing it, and the sign hanging over the platform also made the destination clear. She thought I looked like I might be going there, and wanted me to give the final verdict. I confirmed that the train was, indeed, going to Redhill.

When it arrived I noticed she still didn't get on it.