Our train left Bank station as normal, not quite so jam-packed as before after several financiers and City traders disembarked. I nearly managed to open my newspaper, but not quite because there was still 15 stone of overcoat in the way. We rumbled on. And then, after half a minute or so, there was a really loud noise somewhere. Nowhere close, nowhere on the train, but somewhere. It must have been loud because we could all hear it above the usual screeching of the train. The lady to my right removed her headphones to experience more clearly what was going on. Two schoolkids stopped chattering and grabbed hold of the nearest handrail. Nervously we broke the golden rule of commuting and started making eye contact with one another. Only briefly, but long enough to spread a look of fear across the carriage. Did you hear that? Yes, me too. What the hell was it? It's amazing how swiftly the veneer of commuting normality can be wiped away.
The carriage vibrated, maybe more than normal, maybe not. We could feel the brakes being applied as the train decelerated. I bounced against the doors behind me, but there was never any danger of anything or anyone toppling over. Slower now, and reassuringly slower again. Everything was going to be fine, really it was. A disembodied female voice cut the air - The next station is... St Paul's - and we hung on her every word. Then suddenly there was another really loud bang, again impossibly far distant. And then the lights went out. I have a feeling we're going to be stuck here for a while. Posted at 08:36 from 51°30'51"N 0°5'41"W via my Z470xi mobile