"BETTER BEER ON THE HORIZON."
Daily Express.
A beer in the hand is worth ten on the horizon.
A TUBE NIGHTMARE.
Have you ever dreamed a dream of a terrible tube journey, in which every one of the appalling things which might happen does actually occur? I dreamed one last night.
The journey began with a disaster. On reaching the booking-office window I could not find any money, and it was only when the waiting crowd behind me, which had mounted to hundreds, was becoming offensively hostile that I succeeded in producing a five-pound note.
The booking-clerk took her own time to count out the change, and on leaving the window I found four policemen struggling to keep back an infuriated mob of people, all shrieking imprecations and asking for my blood.
There was but one thing for it—to get to a train before this angry horde could secure its tickets; so I made a wild dash for the moving-staircase, shedding Bradburys en route like a paper-chase.
As I rushed past the ticket-puncher she made a vicious lunge at my out-stretched hand with an enormous pair of pincers, missing the ticket and partially amputating my thumb.