Crowding Pain

I am generally a calm and easygoing person. I like to think that crowds don’t bother me and that if I’m waiting in a line then it’s the Gods giving me a moment to reflect – a time for forced meditation.

But last night I was pushed to my limits. It was the second evening in a week that the tube station at Oxford Circus was closed for business. Yep, when peak-hour gets too much, the gates (at all 7-plus exits) are bolted and Londoners and tourists alike are brought to a standstill. I’m talking fire hazard, mosh pit-mayhem. And once you’ve turned that corner onto Oxford Street there’s slim chance you’ll make your way to the other side in less than 20 minutes – and that’s after you’ve resigned yourself to opting for the hour-long bus ride instead.

Ahhh, London buses; those delightful red, double-decker people movers that take corners far too quickly and are driven by people seemingly unable to keep count of their maximum passenger capacity. To be fair, small riots would break out if they were to stick to the 20 persons standing rule, but being crammed into corners next to wheelchairs and children’s prams isn’t the best of fun. Those passengers who take to the stairs do so at their own peril – the number of my friends who have confessed to a fall when an accelerator-happy driver takes on the Alfa Romeo next to him at the lights is now in double-digits.

Yes, it’s all good to be Ghandi on my way to work from Pilates, but Heaven help the man who impedes my journey home.