Public transport is a pain.

Travelling on your own is hellish enough, but in a group you’re stuck with the chore of making sure that the rabble stick together. So what happens when you manage to slip onto the tube, inches from being dismembered by the doors, and the rest of your party is still on platform? Nothing. You claw at the doors hoping they will miraculously open, look around in a panic, while other passengers morbidly stare at you after being rudely awoken from their own worlds by your stupidity. You simply stare out the window, sadly waving. Then take a seat, head hung low, and count down the stops on the thin red line displayed overhead.

Train stops. Still worried about lost party, you join the flow of people rushing to get to London’s surface. Liverpool Street. Made it. Find Brick Lane. Done. Stranded friend? They weren’t coming to your destination anyway.