The Scheduler Strikes Again
After yesterday’s problems getting to Ipswich, I have vowed that I’ll always travel in a proper train again.
However next Monday, Ipswich play Leicester at home and guess what. It is the usual Newbury Park detour with a coach. So that’s a match I’ll miss unless I want to have a very bad arm after the journey.
On the other hand, they’re putting on another train for Norwich supporters to get to Tottenham.
First Time on a Bus in Years
Not me, but an old friend of mine, who came to visit last week.
After an hour or so of pleasant conversation and a couple of drinks, he needed to get to Ealing and I wanted to go to the Olympic site to have a look.
So it was a walk to the 141 bus and from there to Bank, where he got the tube to Ealing and I got the DLR.
From the look on his face, I think he quite enjoyed the experience. He did remark that he was surprised at the comfort.
So buses must be getting better.
Drug Gangs New Vehicle of Choice
According to The Sunday Times today, it’s the Motability scooter. No tax, no insurance and ideal for tranbsporting drugs.
Not the Best of Days
Yesterday, I went to the football at Ipswich.
Before I left, I checked on TfL’s excellent Countdown system to see how long I’d have to wait for a 21 or 141 bus and it said that there would be three within the next five minutes and then a ten minute wait. I just missed the last of the three and so I thought I’d text the bus stop to find out how long I’d have to wait. But of course, I now had my Blackberry, instead of my Nokia 6310i and I couldn’t send the simple message of just 5 digits. Another reason for chucking the sodding F*ckberry. So no information. The first 141 was obviously in a hurry and drove straight past, despite five of us flagging it down. I then walked to the next stop, where other buses for Liverpool Street also depart. In the end, I caught another 141 and the driver apologised for his colleague.
One of the pleasures of going to Portman Road by train, is that if you pick your trains right, you get a Norwich train, with comfortable Mk. 3 coaches and a real engine to push you all the way. But today, no trains were running to Norwich, so it was one of the old multiple units, with no tables or arm-rests.
So by the time I got to Ipswich my left arm was really giving me gip, as there was no place to rest it.
Ipswich did win a rather scrappy game by the only goal of the game, which was the highpoint of the day.
But going home was a repeat of the journey down in an old dirty train. I needed to go to the toilet and the conductor apologised before I went. It was one of the dirtiest I’d ever seen on a train.
At least, I got back to Liverpool Street on time and then I walkked through to Moorgate to get a 141 home. Because of Crossrail, the area is in total chaos and I had to walk a long way, as the normal bus stop was closed.
TfL should have thought out how they do the buses in that area better! The chaos will go on for years.
At least I was able to have a decent drink in the Northgate.
The first thing I did when I got home, was to put my Sim-card back into the Nokia 6310i
A Titantic Waste of Money
There seems to be so much fuss about a ship, the Titanic, which had the most disastrous maiden voyage in history.
We’ve now got the original film being rereleased in 3D, which I will not be seeing.
And how much of my tax money went to produce the morbid exhibition in Belfast.
Remember that Titanic was one of three sister ships in the Olympic Class. Only one lived long enough to be scrapped, but the third, the Britannic hit a mine and sunk in World War 1.
All this is well-documented in the Liverpool Maritime Museum. Currently, they are holding an exhibition called Titanic and Liverpool: the untold story.
I know where I would prefer to spend an afternoon.
The Toddler On The Bus
I went into Islington on the bus yesterday to get my supper and the bus was rather empty on the lower deck, except for a guy sitting in front of me, who had a little girl about two, sitting in a buggy in front of him.
He was eating some sort of odious processed meat pie and feeding small scraps of it to the child. I thought of telling him off, but then I restrained myself, as I didn’t want a fist in my face.
No wonder children are getting unhealthier and more obese.
By the time I got off the bus, I’d just about had enpough of the smell of that pie. So let’s tax them to the hilt for the sake of all our health!
A Saint Helenan at the Olympic Park
I walked across the Olympic Park from the ViewTube to Hackney Wick along the Greenway.
On the way I met this guy from St. Helena, who was visiting the UK, and had a chat, as we looked at the park.
Bryan Duncan from St. Helena at the Olympic Park
I’ve never met anybody from St. Helena before. Or indeed anybody from the other two islands in the South Atlantic of Ascension and Tristan da Cunha.
He told me, that he’d got to the UK by taking a packet boat to Ascension and then a flight to Brize Norton. He’ll be going back by flying to Cape Town and the packet boat. That’s some journey.
Sorry, if you’re a Brian!
L’ve Got Petrol
My son has parked his car in my garage, so if I needed some petrol, L suspect I could syphon some out.
But as I don’t, the petrol in his car is safe.
And as it’s only one of the last proper Minis, I would probably only get a couple of mouthfuls!
I’ll just walk to the bus as normal.
Everybody Talks on the New Buses for London
It’s true! I’ve been on one three times now and every time, I’ve had deep conversations with complete strangers.
Poeople discuss the merits of hybrid drive, the style of the seats and the joys of old Routemasters.
This can only be good, as it’s not just the past-it like me, but young kids with a life in front of them.
I think it is true to say, that the old Routemaster and the silver tube trains of the 1960s generated the same enthusiasm.
So long live good design! Or even valiant attempts at it!
Laughing All the Way to the Angel
The proposed fuel strike doesn’t bother me at all. In fact, as someone who can’t drive because of a stroke and has lost two of his nearest and dearest family in the last few years to cancer, I could claim that all of the bad news is being shared out a bit.
The strike does bring out the worst in people.
I do hope that no-one near me has stored a lethal amount of petrol in his front room and then decides to have a fag.
I’ve got a litre of goat’s milk in the fridge, which will last me three weeks. If things get tight, I can walk all the way to the Angel and because too many politicians live in Islington, the shops will be open.
My only problem is that I have a dental appointment in Notting Hill on the 4th and if the Underground runs out of electricity or the buses out of diesel, I won’t get there. But then, if that happens the country will be in total chaos, with tanker drivers the focus of everyone’s anger.
We live in interesting times.
The Anonymous Widower 