It was New Years' Eve, and we were in London. It was bitterly cold. We stood on the side of the Thames, watching the fireworks go off from the London Eye and hearing the whoops of people celebrating. After the fireworks ended, we walked back towards Blackfriars Bridge. It started to snow. Perfect.
Walking back into Waterloo Station, we hit the queue of people being herded around and into the station - pushing, jostling and mostly standing in the same place or only slightly shuffling forward. It took us about 1.75 hours to circumnavigate most of the streets around the station and get into the station itself, where we missed our train by 2 minutes 27 seconds. So we had to wait at the station until the next (and last) train 2 hours later, at 4:05am. It was a long, cold wait, but we listened to stories and ate chocolate muffins so it wasn't all bad. British women seem to have evolved some sort of imperviousness to the cold, judging by the number of tiny skirts/ shorts / dresses - and I counted nine women with bare feet!
