Vunderbar

This is how I spend my mornings – mentally cursing each and every person who dares hail the tram I am on, and may plagues upon plagues befall you if it results in an unnecessary delay at a red light.

My inability to catch the tram on time is chronic, and apparently incurable; it matters not at all what time I choose to wake up, in fact, I regularly ignore my alarm, which rings at 6, for anywhere between 10 and 60 minutes. This seems to have no effect whatsoever on the inevitable; a helter-skelter dash down the road, bag and lunchbox under one arm, and a much-abused suit jacket under the other, stubbing toes and missing keys, hairpins a-falling and a feeling of utter exhaustion before the day has even properly begun (as it does, you know, at lunchtime).

NO MORE, I said today. Away with the indignity, begone! I will be punctual, and calm and composed – a harmonious ensemble of the very spirit of sophistication and the personification of professionalism.

No more sprinting down the road in fast-laddering stockings, or never-ending gasping. No more scampering down train station escalators, and suicidal leaps for almost-moving trains.

No, today I will be EARLY. I will stride or stroll or amble, I will board the tram with grace, I will catch the train with poise. Today I will arrive at the station at 7:25, and will have a calming 5 minutes to peruse my book, rearrange my hair, and do up the buttons on my jacket (the right way).

And so I did.

The 7:30 train was cancelled.

The 7:42 never showed.

The 7:46 was delayed and finally arrived at 7:52.

…………

I am so sleeping in tomorrow.