The crabs at San Wo's

Friday 5 0'clock and after a Thursday night out, I'm looking forward to going home, or at least I've convinced myself I am.

Thursday night I was on Jermyn Street, with its independent suit, shoes and cheese shops. I especially liked the cheese shop. It's probably even better when it's open. We were in a hotel at an after meal for a conference Tracy organised. The toilets in the hotel had TV screens above the urinals so you didn't miss any of Sky news. TVs turn up in the weirdest of places these days. At a recent meeting in Canary Wharf the building we were in had TVs in the lift. Also playing Sky news.

I'm going off the point a bit here, not that there is one. Anyway, Friday I leave for home for the weekend but it doesn't quite feel right. Leaving work on Friday should be one of the best feelings of the week but this Friday it's not quite that. People are still working as I leave. I get home and pretty soon I'm feeling restless. It's my own fault. I was invited to a cocktail bar and an indie night but declined both. I want to wake up sober. You don't get that privilege after a night at a cocktail bar. Anyway the restless feeling won't go away; I try pizza, a selection of friday night songs, I feed the fish, none of it works.

Then I hit upon the solution. I put on the Madness DVD, which has the music videos for all their singles. Madness videos if you haven't seen them, or have forgotten them, are pure joy. The nutty dancing, the toy saxophone, band members flying through the air, the two tone clothes. Do you remember Woody Allen's list of things that make life worth living, in Manhattan? If I ever compiled that list for myself the Madness videos would have to go on. The odd thing is the DVD is not currently available in the shops. They need to bring it back. If anyone asks the cure for friday night blues, it's Madness.

Mystery Train

Every morning, it seems, on reaching the platform the tube train is waiting, yet threatening to shut its doors in your face and leave at any second. The trick is to never board this train. If you do, in a panic you jump into the first carriage and the doors stay open for minutes allowing dozens of other panic stricken passengers to board the same nearest carriage until it's rammed, and your journey is spent with your face picking up ink from someone elses Metro.

I tend to take the slow train, which is usually ignored by passengers waiting for the fast train, so you tend to get a seat. Usually it only takes five minutes more to reach Finchley road. The tube is a place to be invisible, nobody looks at each other, although I break this rule often, taking in strange sights; such as the man playing a game on his phone while contorting his face into the strangest mannerisms as he does so. I only see him once. There are no regulars on the tube.

I say usually it only takes five minutes extra for the slow tube to reach Finchley road. The other day the tube was delayed as it reached the first stop. The driver explained there were problems on the line earlier so the trains were backed up. The passengers are silently united. We're all going to be late. We all hate the London transport system, what is it with them? Here we are heading to somewhere we didn't want to go and now we're not even going to get to the place we don't want to go to on time. Somebody tuts and then groans, emphasising how we all feel. Wait a minute, who the fuck does this person think they are? What makes them so important, that they are allowed to complain with the most irritating of noises - the tut? I'm not sure about the rest of the passengers, but I have shifted my hatred for the London transport network - they're fine, it's a difficult job - there's no problem being held here, the only problem with being held here, is that we're stuck in a carriage with this idiot tutter trying to make us feel uncomfortable. Let's banish the tutter from the train then we can head off.

In true organisational style (which maybe part of being British or maybe part of being human), we are advised to get off the train, head back to the station we've just come from, where, apparently, we can board a fast train. We dutifully board the train heading in the opposite direction, get comfortable and then are told the train we were on is now ready to leave. We all step off and head back to our previous train. This time the tutter is not in our carriage. Hopefully, detained by the transport police. (Something else happened on that train, nothing to do with the tutter, but I'll leave that for another day).

If you're leaving the train at Finchley road the trick is to be towards the front of the carriage because it's a platform people cross over to change trains, or just step off and wait for the next train, so when you try to leave the platform there's people walking across you rather than just towards you. This one day though, from towards the back of the carriage I step off and the platform seems empty. I walk up the platform, with nobody in my path, just this strange peaceful throughway and so I walk on through half expecting Jenny Agutter to come running up in Edwardian attire, calling out, "My Daddy".