We've stopped again. I'm probably not even going to make the 8:52 at this rate - even if it is as late as it usually is. Scorn. Strong. Carrot. Lariot. Shackles. Packed like cattle. Matter. Warming up. I quite like cold - but only in moderation. Vacant. Dirty. Sick. Yawn. Ooh! Movement... Wonder how far we'll get. Suits. Upholstery. Carpet. Feel like laying face down on carpet. Bizarre urge - one I will resist. Over. Head. All for the best in the long run. Do I have a long run? I never run far. I never run at all if I can help it. Trains seem to do their best to avoid running too. Not good. Stuck in a tunnel. If I'd got off and braved the Northern line at Kings Cross I'd be at London Bridge by now. Warmth generated. Cozy. Want to drift off to sleep, but need to keep myself awake. Uncomfortable seat. Out into the light. Picture of insanity. The clear blue sky in winter. Farringdon at last - only 20 minutes after I left Kings Cross - could have walked it in that time. Do you think I really care? Can I? I don't think so. Entry peppered with song lyrics - even more than usual. It's a long time since I've missed the 8:52 - I don't even know when the next one is. Wonder if there's time for a coffee. Bloke next to me has got up - there is room for my fat arse on the seat now. In sight of the millenium wheel. What a bag of shite. Four star. Shame. Stopped again - what the fuck is it this time? We're well past the broken train... God I hate being surrounded by beautiful people. Well deserved. A walk in the rain would be good right now. Scrape. All in black. Gorgeous. Painfully so. Sun in my eyes - blinded by the light. More delays - we've missed our slot - don't fit in - I am used to that at least... Not enough sleep last night (as usual). Checked my webstats before I went to bed. I am a sad, sad man. Arrival.
Friday, 19 November 1999
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