It turned out to be a typical Monday, a text book Monday. Déjà Vu rolls over as I realise, a week ago, to the hour, I said the same thing. Is this a symptom of the 5-day-week? I woke up nearly an hour late this morning, in my state of panic I dragged my ass through the bath as one would a steak over a grill. Having misplaced everything from my wallet to my swipecard (which is charged with funds to buy lunch, and there's not much chance I'm missing lunch) I felt confused and not at all ready to leave the flat, let alone go to work.

I stepped out on to the sidewalk. The now busy streets reminded me why I leave as early as possible, dealing with commotion that early and having to face a busy underground always sets me off to a bad start. I also needed to avoid a roasting from the boss for being late.

Suited wanker #1 straddled the sidewalk in front of me. I walked briskly up behind him, planning a sidewalk Schumacher overtake maneuver. Now this always happens, he would veer right if I made any attempt to overtake him on that side. As I approached the first corner in my still waking and panic-stricken state I failed to notice the garbage truck. A narrow escape, wake up call number one. I successfully (just) dodged the truck. The stench from the truck made me wretch, the pungency wrestling my nostrils.

Stepping up on to the sidewalk having just negotiated the truck, and still partially blinded by the light of a new day, I walked into a tree. The branches tearing wildly at my hair and scalp, pecking out my eyes, lacerating my face. No doubt suited wanker was pleased. Humiliation carried me to the station.

I got into work 10 minutes late, which made me wonder if I shouldn't just sleep 40 minutes longer everyday anyway. A busy underground is not worth it. I far prefer an empty underground, getting to work when the lights are out and being able to sit in the dark, read my email, eat my bacon roll, drink my coffee and get my blog in for the day.