The first hour

A rough, bluesy voice starts humming and the acoustic guitar accompanies the lyrics “These honky tonk women…” while the sun shimmers through the curtains and I stretch myself in bed. It’s 7:57 A.M. and my day starts. I don’t like to set my alarm clock to even numbers. Actually, when I think about it, I don’t like my alarm clock at all.

I motion sleepy out of bed my big, cosy bed and leave it empty behind me, even without girlfriend these days. Then, I force my body in a tiny shower which has no water pressure whatoever, I lean towards the wall that at least some drops of water reach my head. It’s typical for England. Things don’t need to work the way their supposed to be working. Anyways, I survive and slightly enjoy the awakening impact of the water and continue my morning routine. I grab my Gillette Super Blade Ultimate to make the guy in the mirror look like he does some serious grown-up work. Shaving, up, down, up, down, below the nose and that’s it. With a monstrous effort I succeed to wash my hands and my face with the extremely short water taps. At least they separate cold from warm water, so that you don’t need to adjust anything but just burn your hands or freeze them. It’s 8:06, I already burnt my hand and ricked my neck. Back in my by-the-heater-dried-out room I slip in my bankster-uniform, make the bunny ears tight so they don’t fall of…, done, shoelaces tied up properly and there we go down the stairs to the kitchen. I head straight for my Swiss muesli, proper milk not that skimmed shit, pour some in a bowl and eat it spoonful after spoonful. Delicious. Four elements which can make any morning a good morning. I like my muesli with loads of milk, I seem to be weird but I like it. Back in the bathroom, my clock says it’s already 08:25. I brush my teeth, grab my stuff, and pack a book. Always have an interesting book with you I say. You never know when you have to wait unexpectedly.

After a nice and relaxing five-minute walk through the run-down East Londoner part called Leyton, I find myself in front of a completely packed Tube station. It’s 8:30 and I would have made it to work on time. If-cases are well-represented in London. As I should find out later, an incident caused some troube at 7:15 and the knock-on effect played his part until now. What the fuck?! Well, I take the bus. I squeeze myself as friendly as I can into a over-crowded bus. Apparently, I wasn’t the only genius thinking of taking the bus instead. It takes quite some time to get to Stratford by bus, I even have some time to read a bit in my book. That is why you should always have a book with you. 9:00 A.M. sharp, and I’m in Stratford. I swipe my Oyster card, pass through the gate and make my way to the Overground towards Liverpool Street. From there I can easily walk to work. No sooner said than done and only 15 minutes later I find myself in the midst of the “City”.
Everyone dressed in the corporate uniform is marching with expressionless faces to a heap of paper at the office. Women in clinging office suits, on high heels and too much make-up lolling through the rough, uneven streets of London. Others, on the other hand, look happy and satisfied with what they do and with life in general. I turn left to go to Leadenhall Market, it’s 9:22 now, I’m not as late as I thought I’d be. I ring the bell, it answers, I respond and it starts buzzing. Upstairs in the office I greet my colleague. I tell her what happened this morning and why I’m late. She then explained that an incident this morning at around 7:15 has caused all the trouble on the Central line. Once more I was late and once more I have a story to write about. Who knows, maybe I will make it to the office on time another day. But no one blames me if I don’t. As I said, it’s England and things don’t need to work the way their supposed to be working.

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