Muted

It felt incredibly muted on the tubes today. Everyone seemed a bit low energy. A bit sad, perhaps. Maybe I was imagining things. But even the buskers seemed to be playing rather gentle, mournful, respectful music. I travelled to Oval this afternoon for a meeting of the Musicians Union's Writers' Committee and a quirk of fate meant I ended up on the wrong branch of the Northern Line, having to change lines at London Bridge, which was deathly silent.

The LU staff were highly chipper. I think perhaps they'd all decided to be as jovial and upbeat as possible. A woman speaking into one of those hand-held speaker things, said "stand clear of the closing doors. Beep. Beep. Beep..." Bless her soul.

We've moved rehearsal venue from Borough up to Central School itself in Swiss Cottage, so the commute is a little shorter. If I were driving it would be considerably shorter still, but Highgate to Swiss Cottage is a bit of a faff on public transport because it involves taking a tube to Camden and then a "31 bus to White City." Obviously I don't go all the way to White City. That would be silly. Although I'm always amused by the bus announcements which report only the final destination.

A child had a tantrum on the bus today. A major, major tantrum. His mother, in desperation, plonked him down on the nearest empty seat, which happened to be next to me, and for the next few minutes my ears were ringing from the sound of high-pitched screaming. The child eventually yelled himself into a torpor, slowly deflating, like a burst beach ball, into a corner of the bus where he shivered like an addict, his sallow eyes peering at me. Spent.