The Fair City of London and the Ordeal of the Stairs

Having arrived at Stansted Airport, the one thing happened that usually happens when you go off into the big wide world all by yourself: You meet a neighbour/colleague/customer/old friend.
This time it was someone who lived in a flat quite close to my home, who I hadn't seen for ages, but who had apparently sat unnoticed just across the aircrafts aisle. She and her boyfriend were off on holiday to Ireland- good for them. [An meine Familie: Ich glaube es war die Hamedl-Tochter.]

I got my bag (yes! my bag! NOT someone elses bag, NOT no bag at all) fairly quickly, got myself loads of Stansted Express tickets (they should establish a Frequent Traveller Scheme) and subsequently missed the train by seconds (due to heavy bag which prohibited jumping on train just like that).
Thankfully, I got this exciting book from my sister (Danke Vroni!) called 'Gebrauchsanweisung fuer London', which is informative and very very funny at the same time, and helped me bear the cold seats and waiting time.

And then, Liverpool Station, the one place where you'll first kiss your credit card because you don't have to fumble for coins with a queue of stressed-out people behind you. If only the rest of that place had been so kind to me...
I had to use the District Line, which meant a kind of modern day underground quest.
Walk through long tunnels, brave the multiple escalators, and finally, when you thought it couldn't go on for much longer: Stairs.
Now, stairs are nice, they get you places and give you exercise and stuff, but there is one thing about them: Stairs and large heavy bags don't mix well.
So...I carry, push and pull the stupid bag upstairs, only to see some more stairs-going down this time. I'm sure there is a reason for this, a very good one too, and they just don't tell it to you because that would be too easy. Why up and then down? Why not go straight?
The pitiful glances and amused smiles I earned suggest that this is merely an entertainment feature for the suffering population of London, however, being as tired as I was (no food since breakfast! Stress and Anxiety! Stupid heavy bag!) I certainly wasn't amused myself.

But then, finally, the District Line, and after that I emerge from Putney East station...only to realise that I have no idea what bus to take, and in which direction. My landlady can't be reached. Directions from locals lead me nowhere because I don't know the area. But asking bus drivers works! Only my money doesn't. Not the way its supposed to anyway, but I get my ticket, get to my station, find the housing estate where I'm supposed to live, but pull my bag up another two flights of stairs right before I realise I memorised the wrong house number. Back down the stairs, just wanting a shower and bed and then to know no more of stairs and travel and heavy bags...and then that is just what I get.

It doesn't happen very often that I fall asleep very quickly, but rest assured, this time it took no more than 5 minutes once I was in bed.