Blue Lights and Gold Sparkly Things

The trip home cost a little more than expected tonight. 50p left on my Oyster Card. Not good. At least not for a bus fare. 50p in my pocket. Also not good. And no way to combine the two to make the full 'welcome aboard' pound. No problem, I'll get change. Only there's nowhere open at half past midnight on a Monday. At least not somewhere I could get to and back in the six minutes I had until the bus arrived. Fuck it. A taxi.

So, a swipe of the travel card turned into an £8 hop across the Wandsworth border. Nevermind. Tooting was quiet. A blue light was on in the hairdressers. There was also a blue light on the bottom of the bus time table. This is to allow you to see bus times in the dark. Not sure what the hairdresser wants you to see.

The taxi people know me now. 'Did you have a nice night?' Yes thanks. 'Working?' No, girlfriend. 'Ahh yes, it's Sunday.' They still charge me full fare though. But you get to chat about the weather. I wanted to chat about Halloween and fireworks parties, but the relationship between driver and fare is a rigid one. Stories of how you managed not to blow up yourself, your girlfriend, her daughter and nearly a dozen neighbourhood kids, don't seem relevant.

But I didn't blow us up. The 'Disposition Reorganiser' or whatever the long explosive thing made in China was, didn't turn against us. I still have my eyebrows. And the kids didn't blind each other with the sparklers. Another good day. Who cares about an Oyster Card?