Tube Strike

Ok, so this week I'm interning at a magazine I occasionally write for. By the end of the week I plan to have wormed my way into the top position, fired the people that have been working for the last decade to make it a respected publication, and to have turned it into a ruthless corporate money-making scheme getting 100,000+ hits a day and hiring ex-Sony employees that consider The Hoosiers "a bit edgy". Just try and stop me.

I morally object to spending £7-fucking-50 a day on a travelcard that would save me about an hour on my journey, so I'm getting up to Kings Cross each day by a complex and time-consuming system of buses and tubes. At some point in the near future I think I'll have a rant about South West Trains, but that's another post.

Anyway, so I got onto the Piccadilly Line at South Kensington this morning. It was pretty packed, as one would expect at 10.30, so I was standing for a few stations before a seat became readily pounce-on-able. Before it could be taken, I swivelled in what I thought was an expert manner round the pole and towards the seat. I had quite a few odds and ends to carry at this point, and was also engrossed in my book and my Bach, so I didn't really look when lowering myself into the point of contact between bum and seat.

Basically, I sat on one of those hard plastic seat dividers. And not just clumsily, lazily even, with one cheek momentarily resting there before drooping clumsily off, but with a hard and firm "clunk" of my coccyx. Some Asian guys laughed at me, and I sort of gave them a sheepish grin and said "that didn't go well, did it?", all the while distracting both myself and others from the fact that I have NEVER KNOWN SUCH PAIN. Maybe I need to man up (I'm pretty sure I do, I'm told so on a daily basis), or maybe I just have an unusual spine, but seriously, every movement throughout today from that point onwards has been a desperate battle against a violent and malicious twinge rearing up from the base of my spine. It knows no bounds, this pain - it's hard to sit down, hard to walk, hard to even stay motionless, and totally immune to painkillers. It makes me waddle like the old Muslim lady I see tottering around my hometown like a fucking pendulum on legs, and made me break out into a rather fetching cold sweat on one of the many legs of my journey home.

Have y'all got any witchdoctor cures or anything? Would be appreciated.

In other news; I miss Glastonbury, still. And I'm listening to a lot of Olivier Messiaen at the moment, check him out, as well as the new Basement Jaxx joint. I dunno, those plugs'll probably increase their last.fm playcounts by maybe half a dozen. Nothing really, but every little helps.

xxx