Stitch in time

aka Our Loose Knit Society:
Just as the doors closed she bundled through and found the seat opposite, youngish with as sort of “Siousie Sioux alternative kohl eyed hennaed top knot Macchu Picchu dangling earrings yet autumn brown coordinated” look (oh and of course purple heels). She then immediately rifles through her bag in a way that seemed to herald an urgent medical emergency or at least a “I did pick up on the tickets didn’t I “ trauma only to fish out some mauve and sequin udon thick wool and chunky needles and almost without missing a beat start clicking away.

I went back to my paper until a few minutes later the train jerking to a halt caused her wool to roll on the floor. As I passed it back (we thankfully avoided banging heads) I noticed as she dipped her head for her yarn that she had a silver barbell piercing through the nape of her neck. Of course I then spent the rest of the journey wondering that if she could do buttonholes whether she could use it as a toggle to keep in place her half finished sparkly new scarf.

OOH! Gauge railways.....

Best trains set ever



the Strangely campest and also deeply freudian train set ever
(warning contains the music of Sarah Brightman)

The church clock stands at 10 to 3

“Aisle 6 for tinned goods, toiletries & hideous carbuncles.”

As the train rumbled on I was reading a new compilation of John Betjeman’s TV scripts (I got it for a quid in the book frenzy as Borders on Oxford St. closes). It’s good if a slightly odd read, as some of passages refer to montages on the TV films we can’t see. It’s worth a look though.
I would have been in a Betjeman state of mind anyway; heading out of Paddington on the GWR does this to me for some reason. Changing trains at Didcot (I think it’s could be the name) is an essential JB moment particularly if a steam engine is puffing by.

In one passage in the book JB’s praising some alms houses and describes the beauty of a cupola/lantern/dovecot built above their communal dining hall. As I read this bit the train sped past some out of town shopping centre, a Tesco centre and there topping off this temple of “best of Tuscan-style tomato & Parmesan vine grown organic frittata & Value range savoury egg multipack” over consumption was a cupola. You’ll see it’s like sprinkled all across this part of the country; seemingly the last cynical click of the mouse designed not to flood the interior with light and air or even host cooing doves but to ensure the fall of the rubber stamp of some beleaguered council planner and the subsequent nod from the misguided acquiescent local councillors. They give an arrogant finger to their neighbours; my heart always sinks whenever I see them.

A Taxi tour of Midsomer County via the breakfast bar.
After dropping my bags off at my travel lodge, 75 quid a night but “the “premier breakfast” is 8 quid extra (how can a breakfast without say kippers or black pudding be “premier”? What’s “premier” about a thimble sized shot glass of sugary orange juice and what service exactly would I get if I asked the pimply but friendly staff “to warm my croissant”?) I got a cab to the church where my friends were getting married.

Along the way the “local lad” driver got lost! While he tried to find his way he inevitably informed me of the inadequacies of the one way system (does anyone ever care about this? No but cabbies the world over insist of telling you about it “you see you use to be able to turn right here but the pillocks at the Council blocked it off...”). He wasn’t a bad soul and dropped the price down for us having cruised the mean streets of Wallingford twice looking for the church. (My map was right it turns out “there is a church down there” after all).

Pre-wedding Butterflies and Romanesque musings
I was in plenty of time however and sat in a patch of sunshine in the otherwise shady church yard. The church I think would have please old John B being as its impossibly old (a list of former Rectors on the wall goes back to 1200’s). Its walls curving to little towers and also at the east end of the nave. It was really a very bucolic setting, patches of the grounds had been left to grow long and where filled with wild flowers providing nectar for buzzing butterflies and bumble bees. Above me somewhere a black bird serenaded us all. Inside the choir (Don’t listen to anyone who says the English can’t sing!) were practising and for moment avian and human voices were entwined. Over come by it all I was just about to go next door and ask if there was still honey left for tea!

Reluctantly I went inside, the church was filling with tiny hats and impossibly high heels, new suits and freshly shaved chins. Being Romanesque (in design) the church has a wide curved arch across the nave delicately carved with simple repeating floral cross reliefs. At times like these my mind drifts off to thoughts of the people who built these places. Not strangely the fresh off the boat Norman using his ill gotten wealth to glorify God (and himself along the way) but the put upon nameless mason chipping away at the honeyed stone. I doubt he would've imagined I would be sat here all these many years later in my tight collar and tighter best shoes looking up at his delicate work. His simple open carving out lasting the vanity of his patron. I’ll have to stop now the brides arrived and the blackbirds struck up again.

Reading Station

Fellow Traveller: the trains heaving, the young lad (11?) smiles at me. we are kindred spirits he's found a seat on his own got his 'phones on, reading his book , sipping some juice sorted!

I don't want to go to Epsom

Donna Summer & Lieutenant Love

Even a medium sized football crowd would have a job filling Crystal Palace Station, so me and the "rock a billly" girl barely trouble its huge brick canyons. She scurries off to the Perspex shelter at the far end of the platform and I loiter around under my borrowed umbrella, the heavy drizzle turning the platforms shiny in the late night street light.

The second to last train pulls in and we grateful get on board dripping in the emptyish carriages; the train dawdles for a minute making expectant chugging pinging noises. Just as the doors start to close “lieutenant love” stumbles into my carriage and messily slumps across the train and bangs into the opposite door. As the train begins to move off he unsteadily makes his way to the seat opposite me and as he lowers himself down he salutes me.
I’m not as drunk as he is but I see no reason not to salute him back which raises a smile. He’s in his late twenties casually dressed wetter than me fuzzy eyed and a bit confused.

With some slurring he asks
“Is this the Epsom train?”
“No mate London Bridge” I reply removing one of my earphone buds.
“S’ok that’s the one I wantss”
He offers his hand to shake, again I see no reason not to shake it.
This makes him smile and he nods for a moment.
“S’want ya listening to?” he asks pointing at my phones.
“I feel love by Donna Summer” I tell him.
This raises another of smile and he half sings a techno doo doo doh high energy riff in his slow drunken way pointing with his fingers in the air.
“thatss the bollocks that is “
I nod in agreement.
He then tries to sing the main refrain
“I feel love”
but gets closer to Jimmy Summerville than Ms Summer.
More smiles and a small laugh.
“You alright you are” he says betraying his lack of judgement.
We rumble on through the night.

“Are you sure this isn’t the Epsom train?” he slurs.
I say “I’m sure” and point to the indicator at the end of carriage which is scrolling through the stops.
Half turning he at least pretends to read the illuminated screen and seemingly reassured turns back to me.
“Thank fuck for that!” he’s says “don’t wanna end in Epsom”
“It’s not that bad “I say with smile.
“ No s’true but my ex and ‘er mother lives in Epsom and I'm in their bad books”
“She found me in bed with ‘er sister”
I’m about to say “that’ll do it” when he adds
“And ‘er cousin!”
We both laugh.
He half sings “I feel love” again
“That’ll be in me head all night now” he says tapping his head partly as if to make sure it was still there.
The train is slowing he salutes me again and starts to stand up unsteadily while offering me his hand to shake again.
“Is this Forest Hill?”
I nod as we shake
“Think I’ll give it ago here then” he continues standing almost fully up and turns holding the hand rails, he slowly edges off the train singing his “doo doo” refrain and offering me one more salute as he carefully gets off the train and the doors close behind him.

Peak of perfection

Back from Yorkshire:Had an excellent time in the company of A & B and of course S.W.A.M!

Some minor revelations: we may have found a contender for Birkinshaw’s (of Map) King of Pies Crown with Hinchcliffe’s coming up on the rails (believe me these things are important).

Stating the obvious award 2009: The Peak district is quite pretty. I know hardly contentious but the sunset on Saturday evening was truly magical “you’d never know you were 5 miles from industrial Barnsley.....”

Larkin’ about: Oh and if you stare out of the train window on a summer’s evening watching the English countryside go by listening to “the lark arising” by Vaughan Williams you are in danger of having a good time. It was ridiculous almost clichéd scene with at least three cricket matches, the pointiest church steeples, ribbons of bobbing daisies and poppies, 2 hot air balloons and a pair of excited children waving at the train (yes, I did wave back).

Blot on the landscape: oh and to the grumpy older couple across the aisle (no it was no problem lifting your case on to the rack no need to thank me and yes we were all in the wrong seats get over it) some of us thought the cooling towers near East midlands airport were one of the highlights of journey and I fear if we “blew the bloody lot of them up” we might not be able to boil a kettle on evening oh and I hope your sarnies didn’t taste as bad as they smelt.

our new mini-site.....

Thursday Stuff

Masters of spin & little else:
Here’s the thing some Education Minster Sion Simon is on the radio tis morning wriggling about on a John Humphrey’s barb because his department via a quango have reneged on funding for FE colleges including my alma mater (new definition of progress: 20 years on and kids still being taught in prefabs?) leaving them potetially insolvent.

One reason for the problem is that the Minister seemed to have a greater knowledge of media jargon than of the problem at hand. He mentioned 2/3 phrases that showed he’d spent longer in media training than in lessons on setting and keeping to budgets etc.

10% Nonsense:
Do I have to repeat this? I got a new wallet for a replacement Oyster card this morning and inside Southeastern had stuck a little advert proudly telling us that in the last year 90% of their trains had run on time. So let’s see why don’t we all pay 22 quid a week instead of 25 seeing as 90 % is good enough?

The UK the cheap bast*rd of Europe
Seems we are going to charge 50 quid to foreign students and migrant workers to pay for public services they use during their time here. Now I have a suspicion that seeing as VAT etc hits poorer people harder than the well off (because it’s a higher proportion of their basic/limited spending) they already pay their share.

And of course Fred “scot-free” Godwin’s pension would pay for about 320,000 “foreigners”. But well it’s easier( and more politically expedient) to extract a day’s pay out of some Polish lass doing something useful like working in a shop or serving food than to chase down some failed feckless unqualified banker for his ill gotten and fraudulently obtained millions.

The wind was whistling all its charms

We watched our friends grow up together....

It's been National wear a foam Guinness hat day and the streets had a few more of what only the media call "revellers" on them. One such Quadrapede twin headed lad monster was on the bus. It explained (with it's most lucid head) that it was all in aid of celebrating all the snakes being driven onto the Isle of Man, which seemed fair enough. His symbiotic second head added it also meant there might be some pissed up student nurses in that place in New Cross. Nods all round.
Whizzing past the Venue they stagger up and in a slightly wobbly manner the monster you don't meet every day stumbled down the stairs and off to see if there were any Sisters of Mercy left for them. More likely however to fall a sleep arm in arm on a settee in a club , two undrunk pints of the black stuff miraculousy balancing on the arm of a sofa dangerously close to spilling over a slumbering trainee nurse from Sydenham and thankfully for all concerned not a snake in sight.

Now the song is nearly over,
We may never find out what it means
But there's a light I hold before me
And you're the measure of my dreams
The measure of my dreams

Train in vain an ongoing series.

The Eeyore of public transport returns:
I'll get back to the fluff of competitive cooking and hot tunes later honest.

The paper today has an editorial about train fares it's rather odd in tone as it sort of denigrates railways as a "middle class luxury" like the Opera and then praises them. I am in support of most of what they have to say, shame they don't put some of the blame on to the present government for not sorting out the mess of privatisation or to invest in public transport in a meaningful way. I'm half with them when they say commuter care more about seats and reliability but train aren't luxury whatever they may think.

I was talking (sorry ranting) about all this the other day after having to pay an extra 70 quid when the Midland(may they rot in atheist hell) Mainline's ticket machine refused my debit card (it's boring annoying story*) and after a weekend of closed overland services, closed tube networks and stations, my regular over crowded morning commute the situation is clear.

Public transport in Britain is never going to get better.

I've been using public transport (I had a mini for 10 mins in 1990!) all my adult life and all we've done is swap one set of problems for another. I rarely do a long distance journey that doesn't have some problem, delayed trains, overcrowding, maintenance work, overpriced tickets, no buffet, late running, horrible stations, cancelled trains.

On my way to work today my train was delayed by 9 mins, not a life time but time I won't get back and which I could of used to do more work, eat my muesli more slowly, shout at thought for the day etc.

Tonight on the way home the bus I get will have a takeaway box full of gnawed chicken bones smeared in ketchup dumped over the back seat, the constantly being done up Cannon street station will have buckets collecting drips on it's slippy cracked floor, on the delayed train the seat next to mine will have it's cushion missing and we will wait in a crowded carriage outside London bridge station for five random minutes (a problem of congestion that's been going on at London bridge since oh 1840!).

I'll get off at New Cross next to the hoardings for the East London line extension which we'll be told in a few months isn't going to be finished on time and head out down the dank little side exit passed the regular ticket tout. None of this may happen but something else similar will. I should get a car and join the rest of Britain queuing outside Tescos or on the M62 to get into Ikea I suppose.

* oh and I got kicked in the head by a pair of walking boots on the same journey too!

My New Car!

One careless owner, High mileage sold as seen....

I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to trek down and take some pics of this marvellous addition to south London’s armoury, (yeah watch out you cocky north bankers with your houmous bars and glamorous west end if you get too umpity we’ve got our own armoured division namely this T-34, that pink elephant with a castle on it’s back from just down the road and if you really get above your station we’ll swing round the big guns on HMS Belfast and get all 1944 on your a…… sorry were was I ,oh yes Tanks.

Just off the old Kent road just after the fly over on the northside of the road is this T-34 tank it’s a bit of local curiosity. I think some bloke bought it and put on this patch of land (as some blokes do) the council complained and tried to move it but it turns out to be his land. Anyway it get’s tagged from time to time and numpties like me take pictures of it etc.

Up close it’s really quite impressive and if it didn’t represent some thing terrible you could go on about its sculptural form etc.

This T-34 really shows the power of the tank on our imagination, from the very start they were almost mythical creatures, early cartoons show them like monsters or landships. One of tanks early proponents JFC Fuller was an acolyte of magician Aleister Crowley. Their mere appearance has cleared riot filled streets and stricken with fear protesters world wide. It’s no surprise this is one of the most recognised photos ever.

Indeed of all tanks the T-34 is one of the most mythical and most paradoxical. Because basically it gave the world freedom from fascist terror (well the men and women who drove it did with some helps form lots of other Russians and some American and English and Polish, and French and Indians and……..)

But then t-34 and its' descendents then spent 50 years being used to suppress Eastern Europe. Like I say a paradox.

Even with a rather timid cat living underneath it in the drizzle and the gloom of a Southwark autumn afternoon this tank did seem t be brooding as if the engines would cough back into life and the turret would slowly traverse as the tracks clanked forward.

By way of tune here's a live version of Tank Park Salute by Billy Bragg Mp3 live in Austrailia in 1992.

train in vain

Sorry for the rant I've had a bad late afternoon.

Bu**er the ice caps, bo***cks to sea level rising I've had it with public transport I'm buying a car.

Why? because it's too expensive, just now I checked my tickets and realised I hadn't a seat reservation for the east coast line but they can't print me another so I have to pay the full fare or pay more on the train it's my fault I thought 4 tickets for one journey was enough!

But one was receipt! so to get home I had to fork at 80 quid! I'm writing this on my new phone fold out keyboard on the train!
so we'll see if it works.
Sunday Night update
(It did) I have tidied up the spelling just a bit.
as to public transport it's a pile of crap. The punch line of today's journey is of course having shelled out £80 for a "seat reservation" not a "ticket" but "seat reservation" they never once checked any of them in fact no member of train crew came near the trolley service was cancelled and the bar was out of most things. When i got back to KX the Northern line wasn't stopping there and it took me 35-40 mins to get a bus to London Bridge where half the platforms where closed, a got a train the seat cushion next to my seat was missing and my 10 mins (max) journey to New X nearer 20 as the train just dawdled along.

My journey to work tomorrow will in-humanly cramped slow and deeply unpleasant, followed by a bus journey on bus whose seats aren't suitable for tall people like me. All of which we have to pay for.

So what sort of car should I get?

métro-boulot-dodo

Transports of Delight?

Interesting article in the paper today about communting , talking about it in a postitive light , yeah, yeah I know but have a read first and see what you think. It's by Joe Moran.

You may want to listen to this while you read it, it's a nice version of the best song about commuting ?

The buffet is now closed....

Confinement
The brakes go on and the air con slows
I’m regretting choosing this side of the train
Praying for that tiny cloud to block the sun
Running for the train didn’t help
“Barcelona right, Barcelona right it’s not bad for clubs and nightlife and that”
is the hot topic from the hen party behind
“But it were rubbish for shopping” they peck on,
the cloud is creeping towards the sun
the brakes are still on.
The hens are now scratching over the number slices in a loaf, their hangovers and how to fill a new fridge freezer
Come on cloud, just a few more yards
I shake a few drops of warm water from my bottle.
Out the window, on the lip of the cutting are banners for lidl and gala bingo
along the line the flags turn to barbed wired and rotating spikes
a bit harsh for an Argos and then the cloud blocks the sun
and I see Peterborough nick, the roof vents are open but the windows are closed
heat devils are rising off the tiles.
The suns back, out from behind the cloud
“maybe we’ll try spa break next year”
There’s a judder and we move into the station.

Train not always in Vain

I been travelling on the east coast line for it seems like forever barring a few years after college when I found out what paying full fare meant and spent hours in purgatory on the National Express. I know the songs great but the reality was rubbish.
9 hours from London to Leeds next to a mad drunk, or some obsessive chubby gothish morrissey fan who kept stopping my tape walkman and forcing me to listen to her tapes, she seemed a little tightly wrapped so I let her until she wanted to share the gum I was already chewing…..

Or another time falling a sleep on the motorway and waking up an hour and half later in the same place. The worst time was coming down to London to live for the first time in my twenties suffering from I found later measles. It was high summer I was sweating more than the cheese sarnies and could hardly walk from the bus to Victoria train station so never again.
Now the train can be bad if like on Tuesday it’s late you’ve read the paper already, left your head phones at home but staring out the window proved enjoyable. The view changes with the years, in times past in mid summer England was clouded in stubble fires, last winter a haw frost turned it black and white; today it was primary colours in Yorkshire the woods on reclaimed mucks stacks were bright green like the freshest lettuce, blue bells blazed in the understory.
On the lowlands every other field was bright yellow with rape seed flowers. Other fields with charcoal black fresh from ploughing. Fields so large they could contain all of Deptford except not a soul was in sight. This does make the choice of a negative film a little perverse but I thought it looked good.
The music is by July Skies who are great an off shoot of the more folky epic 45 check them out you won’t regret it.

The train was mostly pleasant except for the incredibly posh girl across from me, she alternated reading the Mail in dramatic flicky way, with head tossing, ringing her boyfriend Simon or playing with her Jackie O sun glasses. She was most striking the scary symmetry of her face marred only by a large mole/spot on the end of her up swept nose; which probably plagued her more than it should. It would have been good to make a film of her but it would have been super super creepy, so I starred out the window. In the end we all got off the train at Kings Cross not quit like Whitsun Brides not even like Stephen Patrick but thankfully not like Bowie. No I got of the National Express train (oh the irony!) wandered down to the tube recharged my oyster and headed south.

Angels 13 O'clock

Nice formation lads!

The train now on Deptford High St

Had to use Deptford Station this morning (the oldest in use station in the world fact fans) I hadn't been down that end of the High st for a week or two and would you know it the trains are invading the High St.
Apparently it's going to a cafe which is always a good idea. It's part of doing up the station (it has been over 160 years after all!). For more skinny on SE8 go here.

This should've been "a things I found in the street post really" but then again you don't really stumble upon a 20 tonne slam door train carriage.

street buzz

Pavement Art: The gallery of lost and found #5


Didn’t pick this up in the street but it was parked around the corner from my gaff or should that be drum (I've lived in the “mist” sorry smoke for ages not quite master the local idiom though) anyway near my flat. I was surprised they need to advertise the stuff as Red Bull it’s so ubiquitous. I must admit to being espresso fan myself if I need a boost, Taurine never does much for me.

I’m opening a book that the “promotion team” who drive this thing tend to over the use the phrase “guys” even when addressing a mixed sex group. The boot will also contain at least one branded base ball hat. Any way on the subject of promotional cars here’s the daddy the outspan mini, why they never went into mass production I don’t know.








What’s your favourite fruit or vegetable shaped promotional vehicle?




I was going to try and use “apples and pears” in this post but my gaff/drum/flat is only on one floor...

Transport of delight

I'm having a bit of rant about public tranport over at my darker blog! In writing this I found this (cheers to S for the link) its a strangely appealing map of Finnish bus movements.

I also feel a great deal of hope for the world in that there's wikipedia page dedicated to New Cross station!

gettng a bit Miffy on the buses

TFL have got a new campaign to get people to nice to each other on public transport , turn your music down, give up your seat to those who really need it, called all in it together, a laudable aim.

Although maybe the British Transport Police should arrest TFL's graphic designer for ripping of the Dutch master draughtsman Dick Bruna for the design of their little protest characters.

News Round up!

Booze Britain: According to one paper today "Britian is being destroyed from within by drunken teenagers" and I thought it was Al-Quaida and single mums.

The Olympics: The Chinese are whingeing that people are making the games political; they always where! For some reason the Olympics is the most political sporting event going, more so than even the World cup. If it wasn't a huge polictical event the Chinese Government wouldn't be spending billions supporting it. It's shameful of us all that so much support is being given to such corrupt totalitarian government.

Consumer update: Tescos et al aren't cheaper because you always buy more than you went for, they are really slow at serving you, horrible places to be and if you don't have a car they couldn't give fig for your custom.

Transport news: Still no improvement to my morning train; overcrowded and stopping randomly (slow) the same goes for every other one in Britain.