I love Shadwell tube. It's deep, dank and damp. There is the constant sound of water rushing through. I like to think the atmosphere is a link to a near forgotten past. I rarely have occasion to use it but it never fails to send a shiver down my spine. I probably look like a loon breathing in the air and giggling to myself.
Last night a group of women moved down the platform. Their bags suggested they had just been to some kind of beauty trade fair. One was sporting a huge pass with the word MODEL splashed in big, bold letters across the middle. I shook my head thinking sad cow.
The Irish drunk who had already passed me with his loyal and obedient hound took a slightly different approach. "You fucking need that, love. Never would've guessed otherwise. Fucking model!"