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This morning, I got to work.

The bus stop outside my flat was out of use, because it’s at the bottom of a steep hill, and the buses don’t go down it when there’s a risk of, you know, death and destruction, so I had to walk for five minutes to a different one.

Then, one of the three buses (each every ten minutes) that I can take to work arrived – the 55 in this case – and I got on. I read my book until we got to Great Eastern Street, then I got off and walked though gritted streets to the office. I got a chai latte on the way.

I say this not because it’s strange, abnormal, unusual, or anything, but when it snows and the transport network shuts down, there’s no end of complaining and whinging. But today, there was snow and compacted ice, and I got to work more or less as usual. TFL, or at least the East London Buses bit of TFL, did entirely ordinarily today, and could be relied on.

Just thought that was worth saying.

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