The comedy of errors that was Harry’s clusterfuck of a Thursday continued on his way to work. Somewhere between Chalk Farm and Belsize, the tube ground to a halt for twenty agonising minutes. It would have been just another day under the benevolent eye of Transport for London if a junkie hadn’t decided it was the perfect time to get his dick out and flash a group of German tourists wearing those ugly beige Velcro sandals with socks pulled high. 