From the car park to the station, it’s a quick stroll. Like, maybe a minute. It’s practically attached to the building. You can see the platform from some spots.
But here’s the thing: that minute feels like ten when it’s raining. And it’s always raining in Morden, isn’t it? I swear the weather here has a personal grudge against commuters.
B/W print; Morden Underground station Car Park at end of parade of
You’ll dodge a few puddles, sidestep a cyclist, and then you’re in. The station entrance hugs you like an old friend. Or at least like a dry doorway.
