The Bridge Bar, London Bridge  

OK we've all done it and regretted it. Like the slower, the older (or the stupider?) wildebeest, we've enjoyed a merry old time at the watering hole with the herd, we wander off and don't even see the hyenas lurking. If this were Attenborough and the Serengeti the cue would be for choreographed and bloody death. But no - for us it's worse. We go into a station bar. It smells. The clientele (hey, do they mean us?) are horrible at the fag end of the day. The tired sounding English-as-a-second (or third or fourth, as he is no doubt a damn sight better educated than most humanoids in sight) language barman ritually lets you know what is not available. Then you slump in the sad yellow-wood surroundings with other losers debating internally who was that damn fool who said it was better to travel hopefully than to arrive? The yellow fizz works its magic and time for a visit to the loo. Well, keep your receipt - that has the key code for the "customers only" facilities. Yes, of course we don't want weirdos, junkies and other ne'er do wells clogging up the cluggies, and horrible people make for horrible surroundings, and it is less horrible during daylight hours. But does it really have to be this way?