c-dub

Crazy Architectural Shenanigans

2005-12-15T13:13:03Z

Crazy Architectural Shenanigans
Originally uploaded by c-dub.

Ok, strictly speaking the shenanigans aren't of an architectural nature, but I think we can all agree they're pretty damn crazy, nonetheless.

Some scaffolding type apparatus has been erected to hold the clock tower inplace, whilst the building itself is knocked down, and presumably rebuilt.

Bonkers!

When I saw it, unfortunately, I didn't have my camera to hand, and this is the best of the three hurried shots I nabbed with my phone's camera.

There are better photos of the same subject here:

http://flickr.com/photos/michaelsmith/45000639/
http://flickr.com/photos/michaelsmith/44991678/
http://flickr.com/photos/sarrah/30984812/
http://flickr.com/photos/hometownzero/37461463/

Escalator Renovations

2005-11-23T13:32:10Z

Escalator Renovations
Originally uploaded by c-dub.

If this hoarding outside Green Park tube station is true, then why did it take them a whopping seventy-two weeks to fix the escalators at Baker St? Did they do them one at a time? Is there actually only one escalator renovator in the whole of old London town, dashing between underground stations, fixing escalators with a wave of his magic screwdriver?

I wonder how much they cost

2005-04-29T12:29:46Z

I wonder how much they cost
Originally uploaded by c-dub.

Sign outside one of the dodgy shops on Tottenham Court Road. It tickles me that they sell "Marital Aides". Do you think they just help in the bedroom, or will they do cooking and cleaning too? And do they wear suits?

The New Bagel Girl Confuses Me

2004-12-03T16:53:06Z

Most mornings, I pop into Oi! Bagel as I pass through Marylebone station on my way to work, and buy myself a bagel and a coffee. Oi! Bagel has a very high turnaround of mostly foreign serving staff, and so it was no surprise that this morning I directed my order of a cinnamon and raisin, toasted with butter and jam, and a cappuccino please to an unfamiliar girl with a thick european accent.

"Anything else?"

I was caught slightly off guard by the question, because they usually ask it only if you haven't ordered coffee.

"Um... no thank you."

A bagel with butter and jam and a coffee costs £2.28. The same combination without the jam used to cost the same, but was recently reduced to £1.88, and so it occurred to me as she toasted my bagel that I didn't really want jam.

"Actually, could I have that with just butter, please?"

She nodded, and then asked me for payment. I had my hood up, because I am a gangsta and also because my ears get cold, and so I didn't really hear what she said, but I just gave her £2 and she gave me some change. I didn't bother checking it and just put it in my pocket as she buttered my bagel. Then she picked up the squirty jam bottle.

Confusion Point Number 1!

But I asked her not to give me any jam. And I didn't pay her enough for jam. What's going on?

"Sorry," I said, "I don't want any jam."

She stopped, looked at me, and then put the jam bottle down, sliced and bagged my bagel, and gave it to me. Then she went to the cash register, and got out 40 pence, which she gave to me. Then she stood there.

Confusion Point Number 2!

What? Why did she just give me money? And where's my coffee? Did she not hear me when I asked for a cappuccino? Is that why she asked me if I wanted anything else? Did I actually pay for jam but not coffee?

"Sorry," I said again, "Could I have a cappuccino as well, please?"

This time, there was no pause on her part. She just went and made me a cappuccino. She gave it to me and I got out some change to pay for it, but then she said something I didn't catch that didn't appear to be the cost of my reluctant cappuccino.

"Pardon?" I said, poking my ear out of my hood so I could hear better.

"Have a nice day," she repeated.

"Oh, thanks. You too."

Confusion Point 3!

So I don't have to pay for this cappuccino? Did I just get a free cappuccino? Why is this breakfast so cheap? What the heck is going on?

The new bagel girl confuses me.

Smarter than the Average Tag

2004-09-01T13:37:12Z

Smarter than the Average Tag
Originally uploaded by c-dub.

It's not just sticker tag art that I love. This guy is my current favourite. This one's just off Tottenham Court Road, but there's plenty scattered about London.

He's a bear! Watch out! He could kill you with one swipe of his mighty paw! (Paw not included.)

Yahoo not too bright

2004-08-16T17:03:31Z

Yahoo not too bright
Originally uploaded by c-dub.

Another one I've been meaning to upload for a while...

This "Found" ad campaign from Yahoo has a fairly good concept. Make the adverts actually relevant to their placement.

They're totally let down by their poor choice of hypothetical searches, however. Declaring there to be "Cumulonimbus" where actually there is a beautifully clear blue sky is understandable, given the typical British summer, but this one in Southwark tube station - pointing exactly to the opposite of the direction you'd have to take to get to Waterloo, only one stop along the Jubilee line - is just woefully inept.

Grumpy Sticker Head

2004-08-16T16:48:38Z

Grumpy Sticker Head
Originally uploaded by c-dub.

Been meaning to upload this guy for months. Can't remember where we spotted him, now. In London somewhere. I've since seen a few more, in various places.

I'm all about sticker tag art.

Thomas Cook Enter the Slave Trade

2004-02-18T13:55:21Z

Saw this advert in the window of a Thomas Cook travel agent:

Bargain!

The Kids Are Alright

2003-11-03T09:55:57Z

This Halloween, for the fourth year running, I waited in expectantly all night, bucket of ice-cold water to the ready, and no trick or treaters came. Not a one!

I guess the kids in London are all too busy nicking cars.

Just kidding. The kids in my area don't nick cars.

They're all too busy mugging OAPs.

Hahaha no... I'm kidding again. OAPs don't carry mobile phones.

Schoolkids are far more profitable prey.

In the spirit of Halloween

2003-10-31T16:31:06Z

A while back, in my University years, I was late coming back from a lecture one cold, clear, winter morning. Thus, everyone else had either gone into another lecture, or had retreated into the warmth, and so I was alone as I walked along New College Lane. For those that don't know it, New College Lane is made up of several short sections, connected by right angle turns. The section that leads up to the back entrance of New College runs between two high stone walls, and if it weren't for the street lighting and double yellow lines at the road-side you'd be hard pressed to tell what century you were in. It's sheltered from the sun for most of the day, and it's cold and quiet.

As I got about halfway along this road, I heard a tap tap tap coming from above. I looked up and saw a line of nine crows sat on top of the roof, looking down at me. One of them was cracking open a snail on the roof and when it saw me looking at it, it dropped the shell, and regarded me, its head cocked to one side. As the shell fell off the pitch and to the ground, I heard the ring of a bicycle bell, and looked down instinctively to see a cyclist ride round the corner. When I realised I didn't recognise him, I looked back up, and the crows were gone.

Ghost crows!

True story.

Next year, I'll tell you all of the spirit fox that roams the area I live in.

A sobering episode

2003-10-09T15:09:50Z

Last weekend I was ill, and, having little else to do, I spent much of my convalescence lying on the sofa watching Paramount. Thus it came to pass that I found myself watching Dharma and Greg (let it be known that I don't make a habit of this). As my eyes were beginning to glaze over, I was jolted out of my impending stupor by the sudden appearance of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air's Uncle Phil, working as a porter in a serviced block of apartments.

"Dear Lord," I thought to myself. "That's a bit of a comedown. From high powered judge to lowly doorman in just a few short years."

It was a goodly minute or so before it occurred to me that it was no comedown at all. Uncle Phil is in fact an actor, and his changing occupation is but a sham, enacted for the viewers' enjoyment. Philip Banks isn't even his real name!

Another passed before I realised that I was right in the first instance.

The lofty heights of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air (supporting Will Smith! Yowzer!) to Dharma and Greg? Ugh. Poor guy.

The Mass Transit System That Cried Wolf

2003-10-08T17:10:21Z

Twice in the past seven days, I have arrived at Baker Street tube station on my way home, to find the noticeboards warning of delays on the Jubilee line (signal failures, natch). Both times, I approached a member of staff and asked whether I'd be better off taking the Bakerloo line south, with the slight extra walk that entails. They said, "Oh, the delays aren't that bad. Nothing to worry about," and so I continued along the detoured route down the escalators to the Jubilee line (2 yrs of repairs and counting) where I had to wait one and three minutes for a train, respectively.

Trains on the Jubilee line are supposed to come at intervals of "between 3 and 5 minutes".

So this morning, when I arrived at Southwark tube station, I was only a little perturbed to see that there were delays.

"How bad are the delays on the Jubilee line?" I asked the station attendant loitering by the ticket gates.

"Oh, not too bad. Nothing to worry about."

"I'm going to Baker Street, would I be better off walking to Waterloo and catching the Bakerloo line?"

"No, no, get the Jubilee line."

So I went down the escalators into the award winning architecture of Southwark station and waited on the platform.

The first train took five minutes to arrive. It was so full no-one could get on.

The second train took a further seven minutes to arrive. It was also so full no-one could get on.

The third train took another six or so minutes to arrive and was, unsurprisingly, so full no-one could get on.

At this point I was a broken man, and so I waited the remaining four minutes for the next train to come.

It was so full no-one could get on.

At this point, I decided that enough was enough and went back upstairs to the ticket gates.

The station attendant let me out, but did not apologise or even look particularly surprised that I was still there, and then I walked to Waterloo, where I caught the Bakerloo line with nary a hitch.

Interesting side note:

Today is Wednesday. It is also the second day this week I have been late to work due to the crumbling nature of Britain's transport infrastructure.

Tune in same time, same place tomorrow for the next exciting installment of c-dub's public transport children's stories, The Little Tube Train That Could!

Just kidding. Of course it couldn't.

c_duck @ 2003-10-08T17:55:00

2003-10-08T17:01:32Z

It's fun to say

<inanimate object|abstract concept> kicked my ass.

Examples:

Cocaine kicked my ass.
Time kicked my ass.
Signal failures on the Jubilee line kicked my ass.

P.S. None of these things have actually kicked my arse. I am completely impervious to time, cocaine, signal failures on the jubilee line. Rawr!

A Sleepy Adventure

2003-09-26T14:35:35Z

I was woken up by the alarm on my mobile phone. Blearily, I reached out of bed, disconnected it from its charger lead, and attempted to switch it off. For some reason, the button I usually use to switch it off was having no effect. In my sleepy haze, I thought each time, "Rats, I didn't press it hard enough," and I pressed it harder and harder until I woke up sufficiently to realise that it wasn't the alarm at all, but someone ringing me. I managed to open it and press the answer button, but then fumbled it into the bed, where it disappeared. A few seconds later, I retrieved it from the downy clutches of the duvet and put it to my ear, to hear my girlfriend saying "Hello? Hello?"

By this time it was clear it was the middle of the night, and she sounded quite distressed, which scared me almost as much as WHO THE FUCK IS LYING IN BED WITH ME?!?

It turned out ok though. She was pretty hot, and gagging for it off me.

Just kidding. It turned out it was my girlfriend in bed with me after all, and the person that had decided to call me in the middle of the night was 121, my answering service. Earlier in the day, I had called and interrupted my girlfriend leaving me a message on my phone, and so she thought she was talking to me, but she was in fact still talking to 121. When I had listened to her message later on, I thought I had listened to it all, but I missed that bit. I have no idea why 121 decided to wait until about 3 in the morning to call me back to remind me I'd not listened to it all, though.

I have now set my message alerts to be sent by text message, in order to avoid similar heart stopping moments.

A shopping adventure

2003-09-16T17:24:33Z

A short while ago, my girlfriend moved house, and so we found ourselves in Woolworths looking for gaffer tape to make moving boxes with. Bored of trying to decide between Duck brand packing tape or Woolworths's cheap rip-off (we went with the rip-off) we ambled over to the CD aisle to buy ourselves a CD to listen to while we packed. Whilst we hummed and harred over what CD to buy, a rather chunky and ugly woman came over and started to peruse the CDs alongside us.

After a minute or two, my girlfriend suddenly spotted a CD she was interested in and reached out to grab it, which would have been fine, except the fat ugly woman chose exactly the same moment to bend over to get a CD from the bottom shelf, and so my girlfriend inadvertently punched her square across the jaw. To her credit, the fat ugly woman was not knocked out cold, and instead merely took the shot on her chin and then proceeded to stare at us with an outraged look on her face. Luckily, she decided not to fight back (she was pretty mean-looking; I'm not sure we could have taken her) and instead just continued to stare at us incredulously. My girlfriend apologised profusely, but to little effect, and so we hurried our selection and left.

On the way home, we popped into the Co-op to get some boxes to make using our sparkly new packing tape. A helpful staff member directed us to the back of the store, where a big trolley was situated, full of collapsed cardboard boxes. Some of these were pretty big, over a square metre or so, and while pulling one of them out, my girlfriend lost control of it. It swung backwards wildly, and hit an innocent passer-by walking up the aisle. My girlfriend started apologising again, but the passer-by's face was obscured by the box for a moment, and so imagine our surprise when my girlfriend lowered the box to reveal none other than our friend from Woolworths.

My girlfriend immediately dissolved into fits of giggles and ran down the nearest aisle. I was left to apologise and face the terrifying gaze of the battered-but-still-standing fat ugly woman.

After staring me down, she continued with her shopping. We hid near the milk and cheese while she paid for her groceries and then walked very slowly and carefully home.

The packing tape turned out to be entirely adequate.

Richard Herring discovers what powers the London Underground

2003-09-16T17:21:22Z

I don't usually base entire entries in this journal on links, but today I'm making an exception basically because I really wish I'd written the linked article and I'm hoping that by linking to it I will fool you, dear reader, into thinking that I did.

Go read this, and then read the rest of his Warming Up journal. He really is a very funny man.

Yet More Public Transport Shenanigans

2003-07-07T15:55:13Z

Last Friday evening, I had the misfortune to be attempting to travel north from Kings Cross on the ironically named "Northern line".

Service was, of course, suspended due to the infamous "signal failure" and the tannoy was advising the use of "alternative routes". As I've experienced this kind of thing once or twice before, I knew of such an alternative, and went to ask one of the staff members milling about in the ticket hall if my ticket to Archway would be valid on buses.

"I think so," he said, and then helpfully added, "or you could go to Euston and take the other branch of the Northern Line from there."

Mistake Number 1

I should have said, "HAHAHA YOU CANNOT FOOL ME WITH YOUR FOUL LIES!" but what I in fact said was "Oh, is that branch still running?"

"Yes," he replied, it's only this branch that is suspended."

"Ok, thanks," I said, and made my way to the Victoria line. I then travelled one stop in basically the wrong direction and arrived at Euston, where a tannoy was announcing the suspension of the Northern line due to signal failure.

Resisting the urge to get right back on the Victoria line, return to Kings Cross and strangle the lying-son-of-a-bitch station attendant that had sent me on such a wild goose chase, I instead left the station to continue my original Plan B of getting the bus.

As luck would have it, my girlfriend, whom I had been planning to meet in Archway, had also been delayed by the mysterious signal failure and making contact via mobile phone, we decided to go for a meal and attempt to continue north-wards after.

We had delicious Thai food.

After the meal, my girlfriend suggested that instead of getting the hot, uncomfortable tube, we get the bus back to hers, which had the added advantage of dropping us off at the end of her street, instead of five minute's walk away.

Mistake Number 2

This sounded like a good idea, even though it negated the possibility that I'd get to have an argument with a station attendant about whether I could use my original ticket to get to Archway, and so we made our way to a nearby bus stop.

There we waited for about twenty minutes for a number 43 bus.

Mistake Number 3

Eventually, tired of waiting, we settled for a number 4 bus which would take us to Holloway Road where we could change and get the first bus that arrived up the hill.

It soon became clear that the bus driver had only learned to drive that very day, as his idea of driving was to alternate between slamming his foot on the accelerator, and occasionally, at apparently random intervals, slamming his foot on the brake.

Mistake Number 4

I had originally chosen to stand, to avoid having to lug my bag up and down the aisle, but after being nearly thrown off my feet for the fourth or so time in the first couple of hundred yards, I decided to go sit in the one remaining available seat on the bus, the seat behind my girlfriend's.

I lurched and stumbled up the aisle, and got to the seat at the same time the driver took the racing line around a sharp corner. I was tossed into the seat and for a moment felt relief that I'd got there in time. Then I felt something else. More a sort of damp feeling. In the arse area.

It was as I leapt up that I was hit by the smell of tramp piss, and as I stared at my soaked bottom in horror a Good Samaritan sitting across the aisle leaned over and said helpfully, "Oh... I think that seat's wet."

Resisting the urge to strangle her like I strangled that bastard station attendant, I stood for the rest of the journey (which was heavily detoured for some unexplained reason), until the bus driver eventually dropped us off at Holloway Road, and we decided to walk home after all. This walk was roughly three times the length of the walk from the tube station we had caught the bus to avoid. It was also uphill.

Finally home, I put my trousers in the washing machine, had a shower, and felt much happier.

Good times.

RAMPANT WORKPLACE SEX SHOCKER!!!

2003-06-26T16:28:45Z

There is a sticker in the men's toilet in my office instructing employees not to flush non-human-waste objects down the loo in a pictographic fashion.

One of the foreign items depicted is a condom, which I always thought was just some kind of cruel taunt, until recently I read the following article in that esteemed publication, The Metro.

Cupboard love is rife in the office

A THIRD of workers have had sex in the office, with one in ten often doing it behind the photocopier or in the stationary cupboard. Many Britons said the chance of being caught was a turn-on, while staff who lived with their parents claimed work was the only place they got a chance for sex, a survey by Monster.com found.

A third? A THIRD?!?

I'm pretty damn sure that the proportion of people that have had sex in this particular office is zero, and so by my reckoning, that means there's some office out there where a massive sixty-six percent of people have been having it off with each other*.

Even accounting for the fact that some of the respondents to the poll may have worked in a brothel, I think that's pretty shocking.

For the sake of completeness, here is the complete list of articles it is forbidden to flush down the loo:

screwed up bits of paper
screw-type bottle caps
cotton buds (q-tips, yanks)
razor blades
sherbet fountains
wraps of speed
condoms!

* I am aware that "proportion of people who have had sex in the office" doesn't follow the normal distribution. Deal with it, stats-pedant-boy.

A Correspondence

2003-05-29T09:38:50Z

I recently travelled by rail from Bristol to London.

Needless to say (do I ever write about exceptionally successful journeys?), I arrived in London VERY DELAYED.

Mostly for my own amusement, I wrote the offending company - First Great Western - a strongly worded complaint.

A week or so later, I received their reply.

Below is an HTML version of the letter I sent them, followed by links to two scanned JPEGs of the response I received:

Dear Sir/Madam,

I am writing to complain about a delay to one of your trains on Sunday 13th April, this weekend.

Travelling from Bristol Temple Meads I caught the 15:40 train to London Paddington.

After a little over ten minutes, this train pulled into Bath Spa. However, instead of pausing briefly and then continuing its journey, the train remained stationary in the station. After about fifteen minutes of not continuing on its journey, a disembodied voice instructed us all to leave the train, as it was now terminating not at London Paddington, but at Bath Spa due to signalling problems between Didcot Parkway and Reading.

So we all trouped off onto the platform, where a different disembodied voice told us we should catch the 16:23 departure to London Paddington. Due to the fifteen minutes spent in the train, this was only another fifteen minute wait and so I was not overly perturbed, until the disembodied voice returned to tell us the 16:23 would be delayed by about 15 minutes.

A short while later, the voice told us that the 16:23 train was cancelled.

This turned out not to be true, however, as a short while later, the voice told us the 16:23 was still in Bristol Temple Meads, delayed due to signalling problems between Didcot Parkway and Reading. It would be along eventually, but it would be travelling a diverted route to Reading and London Paddington only, and that passengers for Chippenham, Swindon, and Didcot Parkway should take advantage of the alternative road transport offered.

A short while later, the voice told us the 16:23 train had now left Bristol Temple Meads, and would arrive in about ten minutes.

The 16:23 eventually arrived at about 17:00.

Unsurprisingly, as all the passengers intending to catch the trains scheduled for 15:40 and 16:10 and probably some passengers arriving early at Bristol Temple Meads for the 16:55 and maybe even the 17:10 departures were crammed into this single train, it was rather full. So full, in fact, that I had to stand in the aisle until it arrived at Reading, some one and a half hours later.

The train eventually arrived in London Paddington at 19:07, an impressive hour and forty-six minutes later than my scheduled arrival time of 17:21. I was left ruing my choice, on the grounds of comfort, to catch your train to Paddington, rather than the train to Clapham Junction that a friend of mine caught, the seats of which he assured me were made of gold.

I think my favourite part of the journey had to be the part where, having been kicked off our train to London Paddington, and whilst waiting for the next train to London Paddington, we were told to stand back for a through train and, upon doing so, we were greeted with the sight of a train steaming through at high-speed to, you've guessed it. London Paddington.

This would be closely followed, however, by the part where I spent one and a half hours standing on a train between Bath and Reading, and for a large part of that time the automatic door only feet away was continually but unsuccessfully attempting to slam itself closed with a loud hydraulic PSSSHH sound.

In conclusion, although I can understand that signalling problems (between Didcot Parkway and Reading) could cause a train to be diverted, I am eager to hear:
Your explanation for how signalling failures between Didcot Parkway and Reading prevented the 15:40 train from Bristol Temple Meads from travelling any further than Bath Spa.
Your explanation for how said signalling failures caused the 16:10 train from Bristol Temple Meads to be delayed at source for roughly half an hour.
How you intend to make up to me the one and three quarter hours of my life lost due to my decision to travel with your company.
I have enclosed photocopies of my ticket and Switch card receipt.

I await your reply with interest.

Yours truly,

Richard Cheng

Click here to see page 1 of the reply (121 KB)

Click here to see page 2 of the reply (15 KB)

If Herbs were X-Men...

2003-05-28T11:13:49Z

... basil would be Wolverine.

I was away from home for a few days recently, and when I came back, the little basil plant that lives on my kitchen windowsill was all dried up. Dead. Kaput. It was just a couple of stems with a few shrivelled leaves attached.

I watered it anyway (force of habit), and went to bed.

In the morning, I was surprised to find it plump, juicy and aromatic again.

Apparently this is normal behaviour for basil plants.

Astonishing regenerative powers!

Has anyone else noticed a striking similarity between a plant lacking a permanent woody stem and a member of a mutant superhero team?

Escalator Rant

2003-05-19T12:49:57Z

My girlfriend and I went to Brussels for the weekend a short while ago, and made an interesting discovery.

In Brussels, the escalators don't go until you within a couple of feet of them. They then start, and continue until a few seconds after you've stepped off.

It's very nifty, but a little bit disconcerting if you're used to escalators that move all the time.

I'd imagine.

I say, "I'd imagine," because one of these magical psychic escalators did not start up when we stood at the base of it, and we had to walk up. This brought home to me the fact that during my life, I've visited approaching twenty countries in four continents and yet the only places I've ever seen an escalator that's out of order are:

Stations of the London Underground,
This single, dormant escalator in Brussels.

In fact, I have walked up and down (or been detoured around) considerably more stationary escalators on the London Underground than I have visited countries. The escalators at Baker Street Station have been out of order for nigh on eighteen months now.

I'm not sure what point I'm trying to make here.

Please feel free to add your own broken escalator sightings in the Comments Section.

A phone adventure

2003-04-15T09:21:26Z

Yesterday, someone was trying to call me. They called three or four times in the day, but my phone was in my jacket pocket, so I didn't hear it. I did not recognise the number.

After work, whilst at the pub with friends, my phone began to ring again. I answered.

Me: Hello?

<no response>

Me: Hello?

<pause>

Me: Hello, who is this?

Woman: Is that Robert?

Me: No.

Woman: Is Robert there?

Me: No, I think you have the wrong number.

Woman: Oh, sorry.

Then she hung up.

Five minutes later the phone rang again.

Me: Hello?

Woman: Is that Robert?

Me: No... I think you have a wrong number.

She hung up.

And that, I thought, was that.

But this morning, as I got to work, I received a phone call.

Me: Hello?

Woman: Robert?

Me: No, I think you still have the wrong number.

She hung up, waited for a good 10 seconds, and then re-dialled my number.

Me: Hello?

She hung up.

Seeing as she doesn't seem to be getting the message that SHE HAS THE WRONG NUMBER I have sent her a text message to help drum it home.

hi. i am not robert. i think you have the wrong number for robert, because the number you keep dialling is me, not robert. good luck in finding the right number for robert.

I didn't want to be rude, but I don't think I've really succeeded. It's difficult when someone is being that stupid.

Anyhow, I have saved her name in my phone as "dumb woman" so if she calls again I can start my conversation with some more exciting gambit than "Hello?"

16th April - Update!

I had my phone in quiet mode:

     Missed         1
     16 Apr 09:37
     dumb woman
     [number omitted]
     QUIT      SELECT

A painful adventure - Owowowowow!

2003-04-11T14:38:09Z

This morning, unperturbed by the way the 8:47 had spat me out a station earlier than I wanted yesterday, I got to Marylebone Station in time not only to buy my ticket and catch the train, but also to buy both some heinously-overpriced-but-very-delicious orange juice from Marks and Spencer's and a fairly-overpriced-but-actually-quite-good-for-London raisin danish and coffee combo, from Cafe Etsu.

Now, the cappuccino from Cafe Etsu seems to be hotter than the cappuccino from the other two places I sometimes buy coffee from in Marylebone (Oi! Bagel!!! and AMT Espresso), so after taking my seat in the freshly decommissioned first class area, I set it aside whilst I devoured my pastry and drank some juice.

They were both very delicious.

At somewhere around Wembley, pastry consumed, I picked up the still impressively hot cup of coffee and prepared to take my first, tentative sip.

The plastic lid waited patiently until I had the cup just over my lap, and then popped off. At this point, slow-motion engaged and I watched as the cardboard cup, which was now deprived of structural support at it's top, began to collapse. It only actually deformed about a centimetre or so, but that was enough for some of the nigh boiling liquid to escape and make it's way down the outside of the cup to my hand. Great pain ensued, and I had no option other than to leap up, shouting "Fuck" (thus disturbing the other decommissioned first class passengers) as I dashed the cup to the floor.

Slow-motion disengaged as the cup fell, and it hit the floor still orientated upwards, spewing forth a great explosion of coffee. Luckily, my copy of The Metro, which had been in my lap as I sat, bore the brunt of the blast and so my trews were mostly spared, but the two seats in front of me and the carriage floor were showered in milky white coffee.

So not only did I scald my hand, not only did my copy of The Metro become somewhat sodden, but I was deprived of my essential morning hit of caffeine, too.

Altogether not the best way to start the day.

Back to Public Transport...

2003-03-07T09:53:06Z

The ticket machine in Beaconsfield ticket office on Wednesday night was displaying this.

I realise you get more legroom and a generally larger more comfortable seat in first class, but, at about 10 times the price of a house^*, I think this is a little bit extreme.

At this point I found I'd mislaid my credit card and so had to go buy a ticket with cash.

The offending company.

* The house isn't in London, obviously.

Mouse!

2003-03-05T09:57:00Z

I got a mouse!

And a devilishly handsome chap he is too.

I released him into the churchyard, so now he his happily forging a new life as a church mouse, just like in the books.

And here he is, in all his roguish charm!

The trap is reset for when he inevitably turns straight round and comes back for more free wheat-based products.