By a freakish coincidence, I was in London for the first time in about five years that day. An old mate and I were going to a weekend long party in South Wales that weekend and I'd agreed to pick him up "on the way" (I lived in Durham at the time!
So I drove down the night before and we went out on a sesh so we looked and felt our best for the long drive to Bridgend.
Friday morning I awoke on the sofa in his Southfields flat, Jon was still in bed and his partner had already left to get the tube to work.
So I made a coffee and put the TV on whilst I waited for him to surface and offer me breakfast. Very slowly the story of power failure on the underground and something about a bus started to ring alarm bells and my addled brain struggled to remember where exactly Lou (Jon's partner) worked (it was Hammersmith) and work out what her route would be.
At some point the news reached a tipping point for me and I woke Jon, "erm, this might be nothing, but I think you need to look at this".
For the next four or five hours we sat glued to the TV whilst he endlessly tried to phone Lou - all the networks were overloaded, but we didn't know that then - him fearing the worst and me trying to be the voice of optimism in the face of all the emerging evidence.
Eventually Lou walked in the door, having walked miles home from whichever tube station she'd reached at the point the network shut down, and asked how come we hadn't left for Wales yet, and weren't we going to get caught in the traffic?