She'd go dancing in the nightclubs, on the underground she'd ride
The story begins at Day 1. The short version: I fell over skiing and have ruptured ligaments in both knees. I'm making some progress towards walking again.
The last sick-note I had from the doctor signed me off to work from home for the rather vague "2-3 weeks" (it was also mostly illegible and had the hospital stamp in the wrong place. Upside down. Hopefully HR will credit me with enough sense to do a better job if I were making myself a fake sick-note). Two weeks ended last Friday and three weeks ends this Friday.
I compromised; I worked from home on Monday and went in to the office on Tuesday. Although work has offered to pay for taxis, I figured I'd have a go at travelling on the Tube (but went in late to avoid rush hour).
ChrisC drove down to the station and dropped me off. The first excitement was that the Central line was experiencing severe delays (still) because of a power failure in a rather vague location. OK, not the end of the world. Take the green line, change at Acton, and the Piccadilly line goes straight to Holborn. That worked out reasonably well; both tubes were fairly empty and I got a seat without having to menace anyone and wave my crutches at them. The change between lines is straight across the platform.
I was prepared for the stairs at Ealing. I had, I admit, forgotten the small flight of stairs as you leave the Piccadilly platform at Holborn - rather perversely, since you are leaving one of the capital's deepest Tube lines, the stairs go down. I'd also forgotten how far it was to walk to the escalator. It's one of those oh-it's-nothing distance if walking is easy, but a surprisingly long way in other circumstances.
And yes, escalators. Getting onto a moving escalator on crutches is a little daunting. But nowhere near as bad as getting off. Leaving an escalator is a strangely inexorable process: you are leaving it whether you like it or not. The question is just whether you will do it with limbs and dignity intact. Which I did. Just. Scary, though. I was grateful ChrisC had plonked himself several steps behing me, making sure there was a clear gap between me and anyone else in case I flailed getting off. At which point I was at the Central line level, and had to do the second escalator to get to ground level.
Ticket barriers are a pain in the arse on crutches. Ordinarily, I'd expect to get my wallet out as I approach the barriers, tap myself through, and put it back in my pocket as I move out of the way of the next customer. This isn't possible on crutches. Get up to barrier. Stop, causing blockage. Get wallet out, tap the little yellow thingy. Put wallet back in pocket, while blockage continues, hope to get through barrier before it closes again. Bah. I need a special pocket in my coat, like ski jackets have a special pocket for a lift pass. (I didn't know this until a year ago, but they do. Left side, about hip-height. And all the electronic lift-pass readers have their scanners in the appropriate place. Genius.)
Next stop: crossing Kingsway. The Pelican crossing is one of those new-fangled ones which counts down the seconds until the lights change so you know how long you've got. Not long enough, as it turns out. Fortunately, I cross Kingsway a lot and I know the sequence of the lights. There are plenty of opportunities to cross the West side when the red man's up.
Then it was into the building, pause to explain to our security chap what I'd done, and up in the lift. ChrisC deposited my bag for me, and hoofed off to his own office. Once I'm in it's fine. The office is all on one level, and I had colleagues a-plenty offering to make or carry tea for me. Getting home in the evening was the reverse of the process, except we got bored walking down High Holborn and detoured into My Old Dutch for pancakes and Belgian beer.
Being in the office is fine, but the logistics of getting there are daunting. Today I worked from home (I had a midday physio appointment); tomorrow I'm off into central London again.
Next stop: managing it without assistance. That probably means a bus to the station, plus carrying my own bag and being prepared to defend my own space on escalators. And actually being the person who mutters "don't rush" to me constantly :)
Heroes of the day: ChrisC.
The last sick-note I had from the doctor signed me off to work from home for the rather vague "2-3 weeks" (it was also mostly illegible and had the hospital stamp in the wrong place. Upside down. Hopefully HR will credit me with enough sense to do a better job if I were making myself a fake sick-note). Two weeks ended last Friday and three weeks ends this Friday.
I compromised; I worked from home on Monday and went in to the office on Tuesday. Although work has offered to pay for taxis, I figured I'd have a go at travelling on the Tube (but went in late to avoid rush hour).
ChrisC drove down to the station and dropped me off. The first excitement was that the Central line was experiencing severe delays (still) because of a power failure in a rather vague location. OK, not the end of the world. Take the green line, change at Acton, and the Piccadilly line goes straight to Holborn. That worked out reasonably well; both tubes were fairly empty and I got a seat without having to menace anyone and wave my crutches at them. The change between lines is straight across the platform.
I was prepared for the stairs at Ealing. I had, I admit, forgotten the small flight of stairs as you leave the Piccadilly platform at Holborn - rather perversely, since you are leaving one of the capital's deepest Tube lines, the stairs go down. I'd also forgotten how far it was to walk to the escalator. It's one of those oh-it's-nothing distance if walking is easy, but a surprisingly long way in other circumstances.
And yes, escalators. Getting onto a moving escalator on crutches is a little daunting. But nowhere near as bad as getting off. Leaving an escalator is a strangely inexorable process: you are leaving it whether you like it or not. The question is just whether you will do it with limbs and dignity intact. Which I did. Just. Scary, though. I was grateful ChrisC had plonked himself several steps behing me, making sure there was a clear gap between me and anyone else in case I flailed getting off. At which point I was at the Central line level, and had to do the second escalator to get to ground level.
Ticket barriers are a pain in the arse on crutches. Ordinarily, I'd expect to get my wallet out as I approach the barriers, tap myself through, and put it back in my pocket as I move out of the way of the next customer. This isn't possible on crutches. Get up to barrier. Stop, causing blockage. Get wallet out, tap the little yellow thingy. Put wallet back in pocket, while blockage continues, hope to get through barrier before it closes again. Bah. I need a special pocket in my coat, like ski jackets have a special pocket for a lift pass. (I didn't know this until a year ago, but they do. Left side, about hip-height. And all the electronic lift-pass readers have their scanners in the appropriate place. Genius.)
Next stop: crossing Kingsway. The Pelican crossing is one of those new-fangled ones which counts down the seconds until the lights change so you know how long you've got. Not long enough, as it turns out. Fortunately, I cross Kingsway a lot and I know the sequence of the lights. There are plenty of opportunities to cross the West side when the red man's up.
Then it was into the building, pause to explain to our security chap what I'd done, and up in the lift. ChrisC deposited my bag for me, and hoofed off to his own office. Once I'm in it's fine. The office is all on one level, and I had colleagues a-plenty offering to make or carry tea for me. Getting home in the evening was the reverse of the process, except we got bored walking down High Holborn and detoured into My Old Dutch for pancakes and Belgian beer.
Being in the office is fine, but the logistics of getting there are daunting. Today I worked from home (I had a midday physio appointment); tomorrow I'm off into central London again.
Next stop: managing it without assistance. That probably means a bus to the station, plus carrying my own bag and being prepared to defend my own space on escalators. And actually being the person who mutters "don't rush" to me constantly :)
Heroes of the day: ChrisC.