And then the lights went out and we sat in darkness for another 20 minutes, just outside Victoria", I finished in response to my boss's weary: "So what's your excuse today then?"

Being an out and out Londoner, unless anything happens within a two mile radius of Soho, it tends to pass the editor by. Which was the case with torrential rain, roads which had turned into rivers, railways into canals and stations into swimming pools.

"Have you not heard the news this morning?" I asked, in reply, having spent the first hour or so of my morning listening to the radio and being told I would probably never get to work at all.

"Well, I fail to see how the situation in the Middle East could possibly have affected your journey to work," answered Ms. "Be at your desk by nine o'clock or I'll make your life hell for the rest of the week."

"So let's hear it. Were you just about to leave when the phone rang and it was Yasser Arafat asking what on earth he was going to do?"

"Nothing ever affects London," said friend Mark, when I repeated her reaction to my actually managing to get to work on the day in question.

"Nothing," I agreed - even during the fuel crisis there were still 97 varieties of bread on sale at the Whistle Stop at Victoria station, while Sainsburys in Brighton had empty shelves, despite having its own 'in store' bakery.

Anyway, back to last Thursday when, having spent much of the night collecting rainwater in saucepans from the various holes which suddenly appeared in the roof, arrived at Brighton station to find a lot of puddles, not a lot of trains, no noticeboard and quite a few Connex staff saying "Haven't a clue, love!" when asked if anyone knew what the chances of getting to London were.

Best option seemed to be to join queue for bakery which, by the time I reached the front of it, had run out of anything remotely breakfasty, due to increased demand, so was forced to settle for chocolate cake and hot chocolate - which probably explains rush of endorphins and incredibly good mood, as compared to rest of commuters who were busy swapping lines such as: "How can a little bit of rain bring a national rail network to a standstill?" This - despite fact track was rapidly turning into fast flowing paddling pool.

Once safely inside old diesel train, which Connex miraculously produced from some secret hiding place, war time spirit began to set in as people exchanged stories of just how much water they had to wade through to get to the station and compared soggy hemlines.

"These old seats are a bit bigger than the new ones - aren't they?" said blond athletic man from Hassocks. "Do you think there's room for me to squeeze in next to you?"

Actually, there wasn't really and I could hardly breathe, partly because of the squashiness, partly because of just being so close to blond athletic man from Hassocks, but I didn't complain, fearing I might never get as close to him again. Anyway, we had to change at Haywards Heath and he went off to sit somewhere else - so the squash thrill was short lived.

He reappeared, when we had to change at East Croydon and was just remarking how it must have been like this during the war, "all squashed up together getting up to all sorts in the bunkers..... " when the lights went out.....