Now this is the definition of cutting it fine. There's a new bod on the commute. I see him each morning on my way to the station.
Let me set the scene. Every morning I arrive at the station around 7, ten minutes before my train. Without fail, as I approach the station, this bod speeds past me, sweating like a badger.
The station barriers swing down as the 7:01 to London Victoria approaches. With incredible daredevilry, he nips into a newsagent, and emerges a few seconds later with a paper. He then sprints towards the barriers.
The 7:01 trundles over the crossing into the station while our hero waits impatiently at the barrier. The barrier starts to lift and he scurries under, and then ducks and weaves through the oncoming pedestrians.
He charges up onto the platform and into the 7:01, seconds before it pulls away. What a man. Over the last few weeks I've seen him miss the train twice. On both occasions I allowed myself a tiny smile. Not that I take pleasure in him missing the train, honest, but if he will continue to cut it that fine...