Running down the stairs; taking them 2 by 2; dodging my compañeros de viaje; clutching my laptop bag and trying to avoid thinking about how much the contents actually cost... all because I can hear that tell-tale "shhhhiuuuuussh" of the train pulling in. I reach the bottom, swing and pivot on the railing, catching a glimpse of the monitor as I twirl and come skidding to a halt in a cloud of cartoon dust... because, dammit, it's not my train.
I look ostentatiously casual and do some gratuitous twirls to show that I fully meant throw myself down the stairs – it's the very bestest exercise, don't you know. And then I realise, to my horror, that actually it IS my train! On instinct I lunge at the doors just as they close, narrowly taking my nose out west. It required an extremely complex pantomime to recover from this one.
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