Thursday, 13 December 2007

St Pancras

Is very nice, always has been. It's cool the insides have been revamped. It has always been one of my favourite buildings, that pompous gothic majesty, those chimneys, like something out of Gormenghast. Shudder to think that McMillan was going to knock it all down and build some concrete shit pit.
Anyway, I digress. I met my brother there yesterday to collect my season ticket before going to the Arsenal. He had just arrived from a business trip to France and was all suited up, pristine in fact, with his flybag (train-bag?). I had been working from home, so I was pure second hand camden market to keep warm. Combats, and military coat, scarf with skulls on it. A wooly hat covered in cat hairs.
I suddenly got paranoid, here we were, seemingly people from different worlds, meeting up at rush hour, him handing me my season ticket, it could have been cash, anything. Commuters were giving us hurried glances as they rushed past.
"What business has this dishevelled oaf got with this slightly portly business man?"
And then it dawned on me, what they were thinking. That he was a Tory MP, and I was his homeless rent boy.
Oh the indignity.

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