Travelling on London's public transport in the 35 degree heat we had last week is not fun. None of London Transport - with the exception of a few of the modernised suburban rail links - is air conditioned. The tube in particular is a nightmare. Would I be being too graphic if I described being packed in like a sardine with your nose in some unknown sweaty commuter's armpit, and the risk of getting stuck in a tunnel at any time? Probably, so I'll gloss over it. But that is why I choose to travel by bus in the summer as often as possible.
But then, so does half of London.
And changing buses at the The Elephant is bad enough at the best of times.
For starters, seven different routes use my stop. There are so many chances to miss the bus I need: It flies past a line of those already stopped, not realising I want to get on; it stops right at the back of a long line of waiting buses and pulls away before I've reached it; oh, and half the other people at that stop want my bus too, and there simply isn't room for all of us.
Changing buses at The Elephant in 35 degree heat whilst on crutches is particularly bad.
Changing buses at The Elephant in 35 degree heat whilst on crutches and hypoglycaemic is impossible. It's a proven fact.
And you know, sitting down on London's pavements isn't a good idea. I love London, but you only have to visit any other city in the world to realise how dirty it is. Yes, especially The Elephant - if you visited the link above, don't be fooled, it is currently little more than a giant tatty roundabout, with a hideous red shopping centre at its heart.
Perhaps I looked a peculiar site sitting there with the Guardian periodically wailing like a banshee and tears of frustration - at being low again, at being unable to accomplish the simple task of getting on a bus to go home - streaming down my face, throwing the contents of my bag into a heap in a desperate search for glucose tablets.
The only good thing about The Elephant is that anything goes.
So I'm sure nobody really batted an eyelid.