For days, we’ve all been living in a weird limbo, like waiting for a pot of pasta to boil. You stare at it, willing it to happen, but nothing. Commuters were already planning epic detours, borrowing bikes, or mentally preparing for the “luxury” of a bus seat. I nearly bought a pair of walking shoes that looked suspiciously like trainers from 2005.
Then, boom—the unions and Transport for London sat down, talked it out, and apparently remembered that nobody actually enjoys a strike. It’s like when two friends argue over the last slice of pizza, then realise they can just share it. The strike was cancelled, and London collectively unclenched its jaw.
The Morning Commute That Almost Wasn’t
Imagine your Wednesday morning routine: groggy, coffee in hand, navigating a sardine can of human elbows. Now imagine that same routine, but with zero trains and a 45-minute walk through drizzle. That was the alternate reality we dodged. My colleague Sandra had already printed out a map of walking shortcuts she saw on TikTok—yes, TikTok.
Instead, we’ll now enjoy the usual chaos: someone’s backpack in your face, a man eating a banana with aggressive eye contact, and the eternal mystery of “why is the train stopped for three minutes?” It’s beautiful in its predictability. Think of it as the comfort food of urban life—messy, slightly stressful, but oddly reassuring.
