Don't get on a bus in the rain

The knocking noise on my bike didn't get better by itself - I should know by now they never do. I started cycling home and the chain seized up completely. I tried very hard to free it, turning the bike upside down, and pulling very hard in every direction, getting covered in oil in the process. I couldn't free it at all, which made me decidedly huffy, so I locked the bike up to a lamp-post in the darker regions of Morden and thought about getting the bus to the station. I was just fixing the lock and looked up to see my bus drive past. I waited for the next one, feeling self conscious in my fluorescent jacket covered in oil, clingy leggings and tatty trainers, without the vital accessory that would make sense of my satorial style, a bike. The bus finally came and loads of people got on, several with buggies, some with screaming occupants. The hoods and covers caught me as they squeezed past. The insides of the windows started to fog up with that black condensation you only seem to get on the inside of bus windows. People shook umbrellas that sprinkled rain everywhere and left miserable streams running down the gangway. Low browed youths sulked and skulked with their headphones drumming out tinny rhythms. A 'Heat' reader was whining into her mobile phone. When we got to the station, I went up to the platform and got on the train, it was only when I arrived at Kingston that I realised I had forgotten another vital accessory, a ticket. I went up to the guard and explained I had forgotten to buy a one. He was a bit grumpy and asked how I could forget when I had walked past three ticket machines at Raynes Park. I indicated my oil smeared attire and said I didn't normally travel by train but my bike had broken. I then got a lecture on how I would get charged £20 for fare evasion next time but eventually he grudgingly let me go without having to pay.

As I was in Kingston, I took the opportunity to go Christmas shopping. In John Lewis I bought a couple of kitchen knives, and quipped with the nice bloke behind the counter that I had one for each wrist in case the bus home was too depressing. He took it a bit seriously and I had to explain it was a joke, and smile a lot to convince him that my life wasn't that bad really. Well, as long as I never have to get on a bus in the rain again.