I've been working like stink on a deal in Manchester since, oh, last July. Things have been particularly intense since January and I've been here almost every week, and most weekends. I'm stuck in some kind of groundhog day where every Monday the client says, "THIS week, we are going to sign-or else." And every week, we work as if the deal is going to sign, it doesn't, and we are asked once again to "push through" for another week in which we won't sign. Needless to say, living out of a hotel for months straight, breathing only boardroom air, living from risk meeting to risk meeting-it is taking its toll. It's all the little things that you let slip and put off...until you have a pile of seemingly mundane chores and errands to run that never get completed. One of those little mundane chores was renewing my passport. When I left the North on Friday evening to return to my poor neglected kitty for the weekend (bonus!), I bargained for a Monday morning off to visit Canada House to take care of the passport situation.
Readers of this blog (ie, my mother) are familiar with the premise: things in Dani's London Life can never be easy. I woke up this morning, my one morning in London to "get stuff done" to find London had decided not to open for business due to about 10 inches of snow that fell last night. The airports were closed, almost all Tube lines were suspended or severely delayed, and all buses were shut. To put this in perspective, during the Blitz, buses ran.
So.
After introducing Currie to her first snow (she decided it tasted good but was a little cold to wander around in), I decided to put on the blinders and pretend the blizzard wasn't happening. Go about my business. As colleagues chimed in on Blackberries trying to one-up each other with tales of personal inconvenience - "I got to the airport and the DOORS were locked," "It took me two hours to get my kids to school" (really, it was their nannies, but why quibble) - and those one-by-one sounding off to say they were "working from home" or "dialing in" today, I decided to show Canadian disdain for such snow histrionics and carry on. With my suitcase packed for another week, I skated down Hoxton Street to the office to pick up my train tickets and get some documents signed before heading to Canada House.
After a 20 minute tromp towards the City, braving the irate drivers and City boys sliding hopelessly in their dress shoes, I arrived to find that most of the women in the office had made it in, and not one. man. Not even the one who lives literally across the street (although, to his credit, he braved the conditions and made it for 10). Still, those who made it in had this strange bunker mentality going. One rushed out for danishes to get us through the crisis. One was calculating when she'd be able to leave for home without feeling guilty.
One colleague was incredulous that I was seriously planning to trek across town and then North. "Seriously, Dani," she counselled. "Forget it. This country shuts down when it snows." But I was undeterred. After getting everything settled at the office, I headed out in the snow again for Liverpool Street Station. To get to Canada House, I needed to get to Trafalgar Square, which involves hopping the Central Line to Tottenham Court Road, then the Northern Line to Charing Cross. I arrived at the station to find that no lines were running, except the Central and Northern Lines. With severe delays. Transport For London officials were turning people away, counselling to only make the journey "if it was absolutely necessary" and warning that there would be "serious disruptions."
Funny. I didn't experience any disruptions at all. I went down the escalator, the train pulled up, and I hopped on. The train was practically deserted. I even had a seat to myself. An uneventful switch at Tottenham Court Road (not even a wait-I walked onto the Northern Line platform and the train showed up), and I was at Canada House within 20 minutes. Excellent. Strangely enough, Canada House was practically deserted. I took a number, unecessarily, and was in and out in about 8 minutes. 4 of those spent in security. Then back to Charing Cross, a hop, skip and a jump up the Northern Line to Euston, and onto the 1 pm to Manchester. Also known as, the Train I Was Supposed To Get Anyway. Snow, schmow.
So it was a lovely day, really. And I think I've found the key to inner peace and contentment in this absolute hurricane of work that I seem to be inescapably drawn into for the near future: live in denial. Things work out better that way.
Readers of this blog (ie, my mother) are familiar with the premise: things in Dani's London Life can never be easy. I woke up this morning, my one morning in London to "get stuff done" to find London had decided not to open for business due to about 10 inches of snow that fell last night. The airports were closed, almost all Tube lines were suspended or severely delayed, and all buses were shut. To put this in perspective, during the Blitz, buses ran.
So.
After introducing Currie to her first snow (she decided it tasted good but was a little cold to wander around in), I decided to put on the blinders and pretend the blizzard wasn't happening. Go about my business. As colleagues chimed in on Blackberries trying to one-up each other with tales of personal inconvenience - "I got to the airport and the DOORS were locked," "It took me two hours to get my kids to school" (really, it was their nannies, but why quibble) - and those one-by-one sounding off to say they were "working from home" or "dialing in" today, I decided to show Canadian disdain for such snow histrionics and carry on. With my suitcase packed for another week, I skated down Hoxton Street to the office to pick up my train tickets and get some documents signed before heading to Canada House.
After a 20 minute tromp towards the City, braving the irate drivers and City boys sliding hopelessly in their dress shoes, I arrived to find that most of the women in the office had made it in, and not one. man. Not even the one who lives literally across the street (although, to his credit, he braved the conditions and made it for 10). Still, those who made it in had this strange bunker mentality going. One rushed out for danishes to get us through the crisis. One was calculating when she'd be able to leave for home without feeling guilty.
One colleague was incredulous that I was seriously planning to trek across town and then North. "Seriously, Dani," she counselled. "Forget it. This country shuts down when it snows." But I was undeterred. After getting everything settled at the office, I headed out in the snow again for Liverpool Street Station. To get to Canada House, I needed to get to Trafalgar Square, which involves hopping the Central Line to Tottenham Court Road, then the Northern Line to Charing Cross. I arrived at the station to find that no lines were running, except the Central and Northern Lines. With severe delays. Transport For London officials were turning people away, counselling to only make the journey "if it was absolutely necessary" and warning that there would be "serious disruptions."
Funny. I didn't experience any disruptions at all. I went down the escalator, the train pulled up, and I hopped on. The train was practically deserted. I even had a seat to myself. An uneventful switch at Tottenham Court Road (not even a wait-I walked onto the Northern Line platform and the train showed up), and I was at Canada House within 20 minutes. Excellent. Strangely enough, Canada House was practically deserted. I took a number, unecessarily, and was in and out in about 8 minutes. 4 of those spent in security. Then back to Charing Cross, a hop, skip and a jump up the Northern Line to Euston, and onto the 1 pm to Manchester. Also known as, the Train I Was Supposed To Get Anyway. Snow, schmow.
So it was a lovely day, really. And I think I've found the key to inner peace and contentment in this absolute hurricane of work that I seem to be inescapably drawn into for the near future: live in denial. Things work out better that way.