"Drive, she said." Well, she didn't, I did, but she appreciated the lift.
After four weeks, yesterday evening I cracked -- somewhere between King's Cross and Upper Street.
Ken, mate. Your 'bendy buses' suck and the #73 is, frankly, an indignation.
Like a well-intentioned quitting smoker faced with either a heap of stress or out drinking beer with smoking friends, this morning I was running late and in a tizz. (I HATE being late).
In this black mood the prospect of the 73 was too much to bear, so I thought 'sod it' and reached for the car keys. It'll only be this once I promised myself. No real harm..
I muscled-into the work car park on a ruse and all was well. Ah. Sated.
Moreover, the return journey was a breeze. A clogged Euston underpass was a luxury by comparison and door-to-door only took 30 minutes.
I know that this isn't terribly public or environmentally-spirited, but heck, it's all about me.
I leave at 5:00p.m. and arrive home at 5:30p.m., drag dog 'round park and am back online work-wise for an hour or so at 6:00p.m. Bliss..
Also, I found out today that all I have to do is book my parking space a day in advance, so guess who's booked everyday through the end of this millennium?
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