Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it's off to work we go

What I noticed yesterday, after the batteries of my mp3-player had run out and I was forced to listen to all and sundry talk to the outside world on their mobile phones on the train to work, is that the many female communters' heels on the asphalt of the station platform make exactly the same sound as a herd of horses galloping. If you close your eyes, you can almost see the proud mares and stallions running, but I wouldn't recommend that as you'll be walking into people or even worse, things.

I'm a wicked girl. After work, instead of catching a train straight home, I travel two stations in the opposite direction, ending up at Charing Cross. I then catch the next train home, where my chances of getting a seat are a lot higher than if I board the train at London Bridge.

Luxury, to me, is knowing you need something, and then going into the shop and, if they have what you need and it's a reasonable price, buying it. Which is why I now have a UK-number mobile phone.