In 1922, the gloriously named Apsley Cherry Gerrard published The Worst Journey in the World, a devastatingly bleak account of Scott’s disastrous Antarctic expedition of a few years earlier. It’s a gripping read, and only falls down in one respect: the accuracy of the title. Gerrard obviously never endured the kind of minicab ride from Dalston to Kilburn that I’ve just braved, being hectored for the entire length of the trip by a born-again Christian driver on a mission to convert anyone unfortunate enough to share his car, to the soundtrack of Shanks & Bigfoot’s execrable “Sweet Like Chocolate” single played at ear-splitting volume, on repeat. Seriously. And he didn’t have any change.
I feel as if I’ve been violated. I’m guessing Captain Oates would only have made it as far as Swiss Cottage before bailing.