Wednesday, July 09, 2003
Better Make Way For The Homo Superior
It's taken a bit over fourteen hundred million years to heave ourselves up from out of the primeval gunk and onto our own two feet. You'd have thought, by this time, we'd all have worked out how to walk in a straight line.
Not in Zone One, they haven't, if this morning's rush-hour worker-drones exiting the tube were anything to go by. Frantically ducking and dodging, wheeling and weaving, eschewing any right-angles or parallel lines entirely (and, of course getting in my way), they might as well have been following the bloody Yellow Brick Road. Not me, of course. Instead, with one firm foot in front of the other, I sailed my usual sure and speedy, straight and steady course through the madding crowd, reading my Time Out, and superiorly refusing to look where I was going.
Which is probably why I missed seeing the roadworks on the pavement's edge, tripped over, landed flat on my face, and am now typing this with one sprained wrist and one very bruised ego indeed.