The worst thing about King’s Cross Underground is getting stuck behind some out-of-towner who’s busy experiencing for the first time just how expensive things in London really are. Sadly, this evening, o gentle reader, that out-of-towner was me. I had been thinking all week that four whole Euros for a single ticket into Paris from our outer suburb was a bit steep, even if that did include one trip on the metro too. But then we made the mistake of arriving at St. Pancras with my parents in tow and without our emergency visitors’ oyster cards. I plunged into the fray to buy a couple of zone one singles for them to get them home, knowing that they would be pricey but not prepared for what the ticket machine wanted. Four quid. Four quid! Four whole quid EACH for a single – a single to anywhere in zones one to six, I grant you, but that’s not much good when you’re only going to the Elephant. After I’d finished sharing my incredulity to the gathered queue behind me (sorry), two nice young ladies gave the other half their unwanted travel cards and we were able to go on our way without my treating the assembled ticket hall to a disquisition on the inequities of TfL’s latest pricing policy. Four quid. Four bloody quid. For a single.
According to all the announcements, handing on your travelcards to people who ask for them funds drug dealing, prostitution, organised crime and probably pigeons, and nice young ladies really shouldn’t do it. But in this case it was merely funding getting two blameless visitors from Kings Cross to South London without their daughter having an apoplectic fit on the way. I think that’s probably fair enough, don’t you?
Even so, though. FOUR. QUID.
I’d say I was glad to be back…