The hustle and bustle is what I love about London.  There is always something happening and everybody seems to have a purpose.  There is always somewhere people need to get to.  Unfortunately, that place always seems to be where I also need to go.  I sprinted down the last flight of stairs, weaving in and out of people, into the underground station, the beeping of the doors of the train I needed to get sounding in my ears.  I skipped the last few steps and landed just behind the platform to see the doors close.  Great!  I would be late for work again.  That stupid bloody bus driver stopping to chat to all the old dears!  Samantha was going to be really pissed this time.

The sign said four minutes until the next train so I chose a seat as far away from the creepy hobo, who was spouting on about his ex-missus, as possible.  Typically it was also underneath the only underground map on the platform so I had a teenage couple dressed head to toe in black, leaning over me trying to work out the quickest route to Camden since there were signal failures on the Northern Line.  She had purple highlights in her hair and rings of dark makeup around her bright blue eyes.  I couldn’t see much of him since he was standing directly behind her the entire time with his arms snaked around her waist and his face in her hair, kissing it frequently.  Bleurgh!  Thankfully their only choice of transport was the National Rail, so gone were the lovey dovey gothic creatures.

Twelve minutes later I was running across the road having just exited Kings Cross Station.  Firstly, running is not my strong point.  As often as I have forced myself to don my running gear and head to the gym, I usually end up taking it easy on the bike, watching the music channel instead.  Secondly, running in London is extremely silly.  Having at least reached the safety of the check point, being the other side of the road, I continued just as fast around the corner, smack bang into Mr Arms.  So called by my friend Tanya and I because of his luscious forearms.  We usually see him every morning walking past our office window-only if I’m on time, of course.  After apologising profusely, (keeping my head down at all times- I didn’t know what a state I looked after all of that running!) I picked up my battered work bag and half ran- half power walked into my studio building.