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Noo Yawk did it, so of course, Lundun 'ad to do it too. Have a power cut, that is. I suspect everyone has a tale to tell of how they struggled home against all odds, and the elements, etc.; so in this esprit de Blitz, I shall relate mine.
My journey begins as I leave work at five minutes past five, on Thursday 28 August, 2003. I take the usual ten-minute walk down to the Ironmonger Row swimming baths, there to knock out my regular 36 lengths (30 breaststroke, 6 front crawl). At a quarter past six, or thereabouts, I left, and made my way to Old Street station, via Somerfield, where I purchased a 2-litre bottle of Sprite Light, and a packet of ready-grated mature Cheddar cheese.
The first indications that I got that something was amiss was the train indicator board on the northbound Northern Line platform at Old Street: as usual, 3 trains were displayed; the first, supposedly for Edgware, had a blank time displayed (often indicative of a train that is about to arrive), but the second train - allegedly for High Barnet - was wobbling between 5 and 6 minutes away. This continued for about 5 minutes, at which point a southbound train pulled in and I decided to chance my arm, and head down to Moorgate and round to Kings Cross from there.
As it later turned out, my luck was in when the train stopped at the platform at Moorgate, and we were eventually booted off the train and out of the station. I didn't realise it at the time, though, and as I forced myself out of the station into the torrential downpour, past the thronging bus queues, and up City Road, 'lucky' was not exactly how I felt.
For want of nothing better to do, I kept walking up City Road, back towards Old Street. Every bus that passed was full, and didn't stop. Every bus stop was crowded, so I continued on walking, in the rain, back up past Old Street (station still closed), and so on to Angel.
Miracle of miracles, Angel station was open. I dived in, down to the platform, and just waited. Got on the first train that came along - mysteriously empty - which stalled for a while at Euston whilst the driver ascertained the status of that particular station. As it was an Edgware train, I changed at Camden.
It was then that I discovered that the indicator boards lied - trains marked as 'Out Of Service' were, in fact, going to High Barnet. Once again, the train that arrived was empty, so a seat (by that time, a seat was very gratefully received!) was ensured. Save for a brief blip just short of East Finchley (the train in front didn't have a driver!), the rest of the trip passed off peacefully, and I arrived home, safe and well, if a little tired, sodden, and hungry, at half past eight.
And so endeth my tale of the Great London Blackout of '03 - long may it be told, re-told, embellished, and I expect, by the time it makes itself back to me, that I shall have taken a full week to return home, and that I walked all the way round the M25, fighting off killer sharks that had swum in from the Channel in the rainwater that had flooded the whole of Central London.
My journey begins as I leave work at five minutes past five, on Thursday 28 August, 2003. I take the usual ten-minute walk down to the Ironmonger Row swimming baths, there to knock out my regular 36 lengths (30 breaststroke, 6 front crawl). At a quarter past six, or thereabouts, I left, and made my way to Old Street station, via Somerfield, where I purchased a 2-litre bottle of Sprite Light, and a packet of ready-grated mature Cheddar cheese.
The first indications that I got that something was amiss was the train indicator board on the northbound Northern Line platform at Old Street: as usual, 3 trains were displayed; the first, supposedly for Edgware, had a blank time displayed (often indicative of a train that is about to arrive), but the second train - allegedly for High Barnet - was wobbling between 5 and 6 minutes away. This continued for about 5 minutes, at which point a southbound train pulled in and I decided to chance my arm, and head down to Moorgate and round to Kings Cross from there.
As it later turned out, my luck was in when the train stopped at the platform at Moorgate, and we were eventually booted off the train and out of the station. I didn't realise it at the time, though, and as I forced myself out of the station into the torrential downpour, past the thronging bus queues, and up City Road, 'lucky' was not exactly how I felt.
For want of nothing better to do, I kept walking up City Road, back towards Old Street. Every bus that passed was full, and didn't stop. Every bus stop was crowded, so I continued on walking, in the rain, back up past Old Street (station still closed), and so on to Angel.
Miracle of miracles, Angel station was open. I dived in, down to the platform, and just waited. Got on the first train that came along - mysteriously empty - which stalled for a while at Euston whilst the driver ascertained the status of that particular station. As it was an Edgware train, I changed at Camden.
It was then that I discovered that the indicator boards lied - trains marked as 'Out Of Service' were, in fact, going to High Barnet. Once again, the train that arrived was empty, so a seat (by that time, a seat was very gratefully received!) was ensured. Save for a brief blip just short of East Finchley (the train in front didn't have a driver!), the rest of the trip passed off peacefully, and I arrived home, safe and well, if a little tired, sodden, and hungry, at half past eight.
And so endeth my tale of the Great London Blackout of '03 - long may it be told, re-told, embellished, and I expect, by the time it makes itself back to me, that I shall have taken a full week to return home, and that I walked all the way round the M25, fighting off killer sharks that had swum in from the Channel in the rainwater that had flooded the whole of Central London.
.