Tuesday, 12 May 2009


From work about 18.15:

Waiting for the tube to Tottenham Hale. There's been a trespasser on the line which has resulted in this wait. The dot matrix counts down - then counts up - the next train's arrival. First its due in five minutes then this goes to six. Oh it's here...but packed. After an exchange of puppy glances - I'll wait for the next one. A forced choice if ever there was one. Oh dear - not this one either - and it's only going as far as Seven Sisters.

So here I am - on train number three. Well, it's number three to me and it's all armpits, B.O and perfume mixed up in the heat like a cake mixture. Sort of. Well, what do you expect. The only room there is available is finger room to tap out on this thing. Nothing to lean against until Finsbury Park. I think LUL should contribute to my laundry costs. It's so bloody hot down here and the summer hasn't even started yet. We are now 'terminating' at Seven Sisters. What a 'termination' this will be, will be. We are supposed to be going to Walthamstow Central. The driver apologises for the late (ie none) notice and cites orders from 'control'. I chance to cross to the platform 'opposite' ('chance'? Where did that come from?)

So now I'm waiting at Seven Sisters for a train to Walthamstow Central. And I wait. A bit cooler here on the platform but still waiting. In real time no less....how's this for immediacy? Pooterisms on the move no less. Train coming - on other platform. Pity. Looking forward to the peace and air of the boat and the waterside. Apart from the glooping that is. Ah, a train approaches. 'This station has step-free access', issues forth from not only the train but the same message is then repeated out on the platform - which' if you don't mind missing some steps is jolly fine and dandy - but it doesn't bloody have any fresh air.

As I get back into the welcoming evening sunlight and a 15 degrees drop in temperature, my Blackberry hums and its a welcome message from an old friend, R. Noting the death of the great Ian Carr. I wish I could listen again to Solar Plexus tonight. It was once a jewel in my record collection - in the days when people had collections - and records.

Still news through today on the BBC that Jordan and Peter Andre are suppurating. Or was it separating. Same difference.


An evening on the boat with no stove. The last few days have been breezy but we are in the lee of Spring Hill and have a bank of small trees marking the boundary between the tow path and the park. This means that 50 yards away its gusting enough to make your coat do the splits but here the wind turbine turns fitfully at best - certainly not long and fast enough to put a decent charge in to the domestic batteries. Never mind. It looks cool and supports the TV antenna (ariel / arial). But the signal is non-existent for all channels as we are ... in the lee of this bloody great hill.

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