Tube All the Way for a Change

Misty. Damp cold air. Breath streams visibly from the nostrils. Yellow leaves cling to the lower branches, brightness on a dull day. Over the grass in the park the mist is dense enough to be fog. Silhouettes drift out of it every once in a while as someone walks past.

A rare trip to Manor House to start my journey. Walking down into the station you can smell the renovations - drying grout from the new tiles.

Piccadilly Line people sleep while standing up. And bust in through the doors as they are closing. Different to the Northern Line people I normally travel with - far more jeans-to-work types and far fewer suits (I ride the Northern Line between Moorgate and London Bridge - the home of the City folks). Nobody is reading the Metro (in my direct line of vision anyway) - Piccadilly Line people are more bookish (and not Dan Brown either).

Changing between the Piccadilly and Northern Lines at Kings Cross I thought it could just be dress down Friday that accounts for the difference in dress. But then as I joined the Northern Line there were immediately more suits, and women in smart black trousers and high heels, or, in skirt suits, tan tights and trainers (for comfort on the way in to work). And the appearence of the camel coat. Anyone who was slightly alternative alighted at Old Street (media industries).