The Landlady prefers the bus
Forgive me if I’m covering old ground now, but I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned that I have a phobia about getting on the Underground. All phobias are ridiculous anyway, but this is made even more so by the fact that I will happily get on any other underground in the world, just not the one – the oldest and allegedly the safest – in London.
As you can imagine, this has caused a few rows between me and my speedy friends who prefer – quite rightly – not to sit steaming and angry in traffic jams on overcrowded buses all over Central London. This phobia often has me missing trains, or at least having to allow a good few hours longer than everyone else to cross London. Believe me, I know exactly how long it takes me to walk from Soho to platform 16 at Victoria Station. My other phobia, which I believe quite a few people are not keen on, is other people being sick within 10 feet of me.
The other day, I was invited up to a party in London. This involved me staying with my ex-Boyfriend in Docklands and getting to the party in a pub in Tooting, which is not an easy journey at the best of times, especially if you are limited, by your ridiculous phobia, to taking the bus. After having a couple of drinks at Victoria with my friend Mr P – who works for London Underground and regularly extols the virtues of the horrid tube – I set off on the C10 bus, which goes all the way from Victoria to Canada Water in Docklands.
From Canada Water, one has to cross the river to get to Canary Wharf and the most efficient way of doing this is, of course, on the tube. Just one stop, three minutes on the Jubilee Line. Otherwise, explained the bewildered man at LT information, I would have to get three buses, which would take approximately one hour and 20 minutes. Furious, and by now very late, I got onto a 188 bus to Greenwich, as I vaguely remembered that I had once or twice used the foot tunnel which goes under the river to the Isle Of Dogs. Due to renovation work near the Cutty Sark, it took me an hour to find the foot tunnel, where the lift wasn’t working and one had to descend down into the bowels of the earth via a very narrow staircase. The foot tunnel was far longer than I remember, murky, dank and scary. Rather like being on the tube in fact, but with no seat, very poor lighting and a much slower pace. By the time I arrived at the Ex’s, my nerves were shot and I had to drink a couple of glasses of wine, by which time I was drunk enough to be coaxed onto the Northern Line to Tooting Bec by the Ex. Everything was fine, until a girl vomited on my feet at Clapham South. By now we were so late that we’d missed the party and had to turn round and go back home. Needless to say, we took the night bus…
