At work again

I hate working Saturdays. It means getting up at an ungodly hour (for me at least), rushing to the Tube, knowing already that I will have just missed a train and will have to wait 14-18 minutes for the next. Today has been worse than usual, not least because I was in a holiday mood having slept till 11 yesterday. The streets of central London are remarkably empty, save the Spanish and Italian backpackers wandering around with slightly bemused looks on their faces. We, however, do have customers, in fact more than I can remember on recent Saturdays. I guess that in the same way the whole of London has gone to Brighton, or Ibiza, or Mogadishu or wherever, those provincial types, especially from the North will travel to the Smoke for a day out. I, however, intend on travelling nowhere Sunday or Monday - Ealing is seemingly the greenest of London boroughs, and is quite delightful in the spring. The trees on my way to the Tube are blossoming, and as in the past, there is, of course one that induces a particularly heavy sneezing fit in me. Although this may just be an allergy to mornings. I am not sure, and my GP seems unconvinced by my theory.