Make this boy sweat, make this boy gleam - the joys of the London Underground

The weather in London for the past few days has been incredible, especially for a blond-haired blue-eyed boy whose skin is essentially transparent. My Viking blood is good for ice, cold winds and the standard weather of the British summer - rain.

Two days ago the high was 30°C, yesterday it was 28°C.

Today it is expected to again be 28°C, with (oh joy!) a return to 30°C expected on Wednesday.

Oh dear.

It isn't just the heat though that makes a day tough. The busyness and humidity of the city, plus the general heavy fug you get in a city, means that it has been a real hard ask just to to get around. I've taken several breaks in air conditioned Starbucks' over the past few days!

All of which brings me to this morning, and the joy of negotiating the Tube with bags of possessions and the incredible warmth created by herding busy worker ants underground.

I started at Hornsey, a station that isn't part of the Tube network. The awning there is angled so as to ensure it provides no shade for anyone actually standing on the platform. If I had been a bee perched in the rafters I would have been fine, and no doubt Boris often checks the Hymenoptera opinion polls. However, as a human being in a suit I was forced to cower in a corner and grab any respite from the sun that I could.

The train arrived to take me to Finsbury Park, so, grabbing my possessions (a large bag, a rucksack and a suit bag), I leaped from my slither of shade and onto the waiting carriage. The journey began.

What bliss I felt as my sweaty discomfort was eased by the fresh air coming through the windows. The stop at Harringey was interminable, the lack of movement meaning my source of cold air was removed, but then we were off again, a father next to me quizzing his kids about their friends, the vast array of commuters buried in their iPads and books, looks of steely disinterest across many faces.

We reached Finsbury Park, the site of my transfer to the Victoria line and on to Victoria Station. Joining the scrum I escaped the train and bundled my way to the Oyster card touch pad, juggling my luggage around to make my way through and down the stairs.

TfL now requires passengers to touch in and out between all changes, so I carried out the same movements again 20 yards down the grimy corridor. Bag handle from right to left hand, hold the suit bag, put my ridiculously uncomfortable rucksack on the left shoulder and then reach into my back pocket for the blue wallet containing my Oyster. Its almost like a little dance.

Finsbury Park only has steps, so I lifted the large bag by the handle and wandered down and round the spiral staircase and on to the platform. A three minute wait and I was on the train that would get me to Victoria.

Tight doesn't describe it. Forced at Finsbury Park to lift my bag up, I got into the end of a carriage and found the immovable frame of an NHS IT man (it was sown into his shirt). He refused to budge, so I stood by the door and maneuvered my stuff towards him. I could really have done with the gap he was in, even if it was next to a door which carried a rather ominous sign - 'use during transit may result in death'.

Each stop was interminable, the flow of air again stopping as people cram in, desperate for some reason to join our sweaty and frustrated Victorian gang. Slowly we made our way under London, but only after a few extra stops the driver added in between platforms to ensure the tourists on board got the complete Tube experience. 

By now the IT guy was really sweating, drops falling off his cheek and on to the handle of my bag. I could have moved my stuff, but that would have sacrificed breathing, so I decided not to, only allowing my hand to find cover in my pocket. Glimmering bead joined glimmering bead as they dripped onto the black plastic, forming the strangest way of measuring time imaginable.

We continued on our journey and eventually the IT man left, giving me room to both move my bags and get a hit of the precious fresh air that flies through the window that makes up part of the door of death. 

Unfortunately for me the air was dry. As in DRY. Basically dust flying at you. Pretty much immediately my mouth did an impersonation of the Gobi Desert and I started coughing. Not wanting to appear rude I covered my mouth, thereby walloping myself in the face with the suit bag, but the coughing wouldn't stop. No doubt assuming I was a plague carrier, my fellow passengers moved away and suddenly I was blessed with a large amount of space.  New trick - fake plague at every possible opportunity.

We arrived at Victoria to discover a mass ruck. Normal rules of Tube life mean passengers are allowed off trains before others take their place. Evidently this requirement had been removed and replaced with Queensbury rules as we had to wrestle our way through to the steps. More steps. Steps at Hornsey, steps at Finsbury Park, now steps at Victoria. All with bags and surrounded by people rushing and sweating in every possible direction.

Finally I found an escalator, performed the Oyster card boogey one more time and was loose in Victoria Station. My reward? To walk out into hot and sweaty London. The Tube had been cramped and boiling, with IT man sweat falling on my stuff and dry air filling my lungs. Now, reaching the surface, things didn't get much better. Loud traffic added fumes to the hot and heavy air whilst pushy crowds wound their way around me and escaped into the metropolis. I trudged to the office, put my tie and jacket on and walked in. What a start to the day.

Now I freely admit that I sweat a lot. It is one of my (many) less attractive qualities. However, the Tube today was incredibly unpleasant. A smelly mess of people trudged their way to work without a smile but with faces glistening, all knowing that they had to spend the day in their damp clothes and all too aware that their journey home wouldn't be much different.

I have four more days in the capital and it doesn't look like the weather will be changing. I suspect most of my time will be spent sweating.

P.S. Do you understand the title of this post? I'm quite pleased with it (arrogant swagger)