Glitzy City, Curious Town
The Easter weekend is always a bit of a treat and this year certainly didn’t disappoint.
Far from being frowned upon, the pursuits of stuffing one’s face with gigantic roast dinners, ovular chocolate and day-beer are positively encouraged, which never fails to fill my clogged heart with gladness.
On Tuesday I experienced a brief bout of commuter chaos when, on arriving Finsbury Park, I learnt that there’d been a jumper on the line and so trains on the Hertford Loop were indefinitely suspended.
Naïvely, I asked why it wasn’t possible to simply pounce down onto the track and snatch it off when there was a reasonable gap between trains, or even try hooking it up with a broom. Did it have a hood, I wondered, because that would surely be a doddle to snag.
After a wearisome roll of the eyes from the First Capital Connect platform manager, the term “jumper” was explained to me and I realised my suggestions had perhaps been a little less helpful than I’d hoped.
Rather than wait around twiddling my thumbs and spending eye-watering sums of money at the organic snack shack betwixt platforms 5 and 6, I quickly scanned the departure board and got set for a four minute wait for the Welwyn Garden City service.
I was in Hatfield about twenty minutes later, and quarter of an hour after that the taxi was pulling up chez moi.
It’s the first time there’s been any real travel chaos in nine months (even during the snow earlier in the year) and, whilst I wouldn’t fancy the prospect of doing it every day, it’s good to know that by crossing a mini-cab driver’s palm with gold (well, fifteen quid), I’m not stranded just because I’m not on the Tube.
I’d have comfortably spent more than that on a couple of cups of boredom tea and floor-biscuits had I waited for the ‘Loop to re-open.
Maundy Thursday arrived and, as I enjoyed quaffing a handful of post-work Soho holiday-beers outside one of the area’s fine hostelries, I was delighted to be approached by a heart-stoppingly pretty young lady dressed as a rabbit and dishing out flyers for some modern discotheque or other.
After a brief, flirtatious chat that was in no danger of going anywhere given the clear disconnect in our relative prettiness, I was able to enjoy a good old fashioned rock back on my heels with my eyes on stalks as she sashayed off into the night never to be seen again.
Feeble, I know, to count this voyeuristic non-event amongst the highlights of my city week, but she had whiskers and everything, that wascally wabbit, so I really was powerless to resist.