As Cat Stevens would say. Well, sing rather than say I suppose.

It would seem easier to kill off Tuesday now, at the ripe old time of 10am before this day gets more arduous. It was the tube what done it. You know instantly your day has gone downhill before it's begun when you skim down the board at the entrance to the station and it says "District Line: Good service; Picadilly Line: Good service; Victoria Line: Severe delays". It makes a very rude word pop into my head.

We had the works this morning - an overheated packed tube, 3 trains before I could actually squeeze onto one, some idiot who blatantly shouldn't squeeze on but does anyway, another idiot with a suitcase the size of my flat travelling at rush hour (tourists), getting stuck in the tunnel for 10 minutes 200 yards away from my station. But this morning topped it; a woman actually managed to smack me in the face at Oxford Circus. She held onto the rail above her as she stepped of the train, and her trailling arm managed to clip me right in the mush. And she was wearing a handful of sovereign rings.

I'm stupid enough not to have shouted. I was a bit too shocked to be honest. No one asks if you're ok, no-one apologises, no-one really cares.

When I was little, and my mam went to Eldon Square to shop, Marks and Spencers was my most hated place on Earth. There were days when it all got too much, and I'd sit down on the floor of the shop and just refuse to budge. No "we have to leave, please can I go and play on the pencils" demands, just "that's it, I've had enough". One day I'm going to do that on the platform of Finsbury Park.