
One busy GrandPrix weekend at closing time I was stuck at a tram stop for ages unable to fit in any of the trams as everyone began to leave the big event.
After the fourth tram frustratingly zipped by like a giant sardine can the next one rolled in. The doors opened, and I realised I still couldn’t fit with everyone banked up against the doors.
One guy helped get the others to kindly make way for me, although I was thinking there was no way I’d really fit comfortably, but they’d been so kind to make way for me I couldn’t say no.
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This meant I was travelling along in the tram without a proper hold of the stabilising bars in my high heels, pressed against a bunch of people (all men), and pretty embarrassed about falling into them constantly as the tram wobbled and jolted along.
One of the guys was smoking hot, with an incredible body in his tight-fitting Grand Prix branded sports shirt. Talk about awkward, right? I kept apologising profusely for falling into his very buffed self – I am blushing just thinking about this.