A handful of beggars had set up camp near the entrance. For the most they were completely ignored, at best, dismissed by a wave of the hand. I checked my pockets and scooped up what little change I had before placing it in crumpled milkshake container that sat in front of one of the younger ones. Huddled beneath a grimy blanket, his meager possessions split between a few plastic bags, he cut a pathetic figure. 'Thanks for that mate, couldn't have a sip could I?'.
I gave him the can.
'You're a gem' he said in a deep Scottish accent.
'Have a good night mate', I replied, knowing that the chances of that were slim.
The place smelt of piss as a light rain began to fall over the bus depot in the background.
A little happier with my lot in life, I pushed on down the stairs into the belly of the Underground beast. Purchasing a ticket took longer than I hoped but the man behind the Perspex displayed a peerless level of patience as, with map and felt tipped pen in hand, I explained my onward journey. 'Little inside information for you mate, next time, just let me know your destination.' he offered, in an almost paternal tone. The people in the queue behind me sighed deeply beneath their collective breath, as I made my getaway.
'That wasn't that hard', I reassured myself, mentally filing away the information that the ticket seller had just given me. The rest of the journey was relatively hassle free. I took one train in the wrong direction, but discovered the error of my ways before hitting Heathrow and was back on track before you could say 'mind the gap.'
I finally arrived at Covent Garden and after watching a few people feed their tickets through the gates, I followed suit and was free to explore the above ground world again. Like Wilbur and Orville, I had succeeded in the face of adversity. Unlike the Wright Brothers I never set the bar to high, nothing to be gained by failure.
Now, if I could just find the Walkabout.
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