Dank thick perspiration drapes over our oily nervous skin like freshly salted slugs... No breeze the air is hot and still..
We carve up limes with a kitchen knife as the other commuters look nervous. We lick salt and do shots of tequila, the butterflies in our stomachs do back flips as we hurtle along in a tin tube following the ancient British mainline
The English weather has for once done us proud. This bank holiday weekend will be a story to tell our grandchildren.....If we survive.