I never ever thought I’d find myself on Oxford Street at about four a.m. on New Year’s Day stone cold sober. But it happened.
As I had to work this morning, I heralded in the new year by going to bed early last night.
Getting a cab on Crown Street was a lot easier than I expected, although the driver did look me up and down fairly suspciously once or twice before pulling over to pick me up. It must have been quite a relief for him to realise I wasn’t one of the many pissed dickheads he’d been dealing with all night.
“I want to go to Ultimo, but I need to go via the Taylor Square newsagency to pick up some newspapers on the way”, I told him. In scenes reminiscent of a Hollywood movie, forty-or-fifty people descended on the taxi as we pulled in at Taylor Square. You could see the look of desperation in their eyes, and then disappointment as they soon realised the taxi wasn’t free. Feeling a bit sorry for the taxi driver and the “siege situation” I’d dragged him into, I promised him I’d run in and out as quickly as possible. As I ran in, I noticed there were queues everywhere on Oxford Street, even apparently at the sex shop next to the newsagency.
Thus, I couldn’t resist the temptation to take a quick, intentionally blurry photograph of the scene.
In the midst of this, I felt quite virtuous as I walked in to work at 4.30 this morning.
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