The London Underground is the Venus flytrap of jobs. There you are, buzzing about, poor but happy, when you catch the smell of regular wages, cups of tea and early starts. Working-class culture, without much working. Over you trot, to have a look and… there you are, stuck. Everyone I ever met on the underground will tell you that they only joined for six months and here they are 25 years later, fat and dull and living in Borehamwood.
The minutes go slowly, but the years race by. With nothing much to do, it is easy to watch your life…
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