Friday night

The Tube is such a strange creature.
You never know what it's going to be like.
Are you going to be squished like a sardine, with your back up against the doors, like my son and I were going into town the other day? Or are you going to get to sit down and read your free paper in peace?
Hard to predict.
Do not see rhyme or reason to it yet. Depends on how quick the trains come basically, which is something way beyond knowing.
Here's one little guess on the situation: The Friday night commute home, which I just did, is less busy, because people stay in town and go to the pub to start their weekends. Central London is packed.
The Brits are nothing without their drink. More about that later.
Back to the Tube. Which is very pretty, really. Some of the stations are art deco gems. Love the way they light the brick archways at Gloucester Road station.
Anyway, yesterday afternoon and today up and back to work, the Tube was a delight. Sat down the whole way; enjoyed the free paper. Love the free Evening Standard.
That coming right after yesterday morning, though, when my 6'5" son was pinned against the sliding door for several stops. By the sheer crush of commuters.
With his neck bent over like a giraffe.
It was kinda comical.
At one point, a tiny woman managed to push in behind him at one stop, about half his height.
He couldn't turn around and his back-pack just grazed her head.
"Is there someone behind me?" he whispered at one point.
Yep. There is.