I'm writing this from my sickbed, for a nice change. Mr WithaY has emigrated into the spare room so he can have his very own sickbed. In fact, in a bizarre one-upmanship stunt, he was actually sick a little while ago, while I am merely laid low with a blinding headache, intermittent chills and an increasing amount of snot.
It's lovely at our house. I can feel your envy from here. Or is that just another temperature spike?
I was feeling a bit weird earlier in the week, but put it down to tiredness and intellectual burnout, as I had been dealing with huge terrifying spreadsheets for days.
As an aside, how did I end up doing scary finance, exactly? I have, more than once, mentioned my maths blind spot on this blog. If the whole country crashes deeper into the depths of depression, possibly exploding in a huge fireball of even more debt, I have a nagging fear it might be all my fault. Those pesky spreadsheets.
Anyway. Whining about ailments aside, it's been an action-packed week so far.
Monday went like this. I have abbreviated it for you, so as to spare you the unrelenting tedium that is my average working day.
Oh fuck no is that the time drive drive drive train train train train bus work work work spreadsheets work complicated formulae work work meetings work lunch from M&S work work TUBE gah! train lovely Middle Sis's house for dinner.
They're doing something complicated to the escalators at Victoria station. Apparently we should "avoid the station between 4pm and 8pm" i.e. throughout the entire evening commute. Yeah right. There's a one way system in place for the weary travellers. You have to join the end of a massive snake of people, through the booking hall, across past the barriers, up the stairs, through the main overground part of the station, down some other stairs, back past the barriers but on the other side, then finally through the ticket barriers and down to the underground platforms. It took about 15 minutes, all told.
I'm jolly glad I don't have to endure that every day.
I was going to brag about the pie I made for dinner, but since Mr WithaY was sick I've rather lost heart.
I hope we both feel better tomorrow.
Showing posts with label Tube travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tube travel. Show all posts
Thursday, 3 February 2011
Wednesday, 24 March 2010
Cracking fun
It's been a week of trains. Trains, trains, trains. Interspersed with the Tube.
Things I have seen on my travels of late include:
Two very excited West Ham fans on the Tube. As the journey progressed they donned more and more kit - hats, scarves, shirts. By the time I got off they were eagerly examining one anothers tickets for the match, and talking loudly about what a great night they were about to have. They both looked very young, and were clearly having the time of their lives. One of them gave up his seat to a lady, which I thought was polite. Although, now I think about it, she was very attractive, and neither of them gave up their seat to a much less attractive lady later in the trip. So, maybe an ulterior motive there.
As an aside, I often see people offering up seats on the Tube. It's less common to see someone ofering up a seat on the train out of Waterloo, but that would mean standing up for the bet part of an hour at least, so I can understand the reluctance.
I saw this on Tuesday night. A man got on the train at Salisbury and proceeded to eat his way through a whole pack of chocolate mini rolls. I have seldom seen anyone get less enjoyment out of food; he looked as though it was an exercise in energy restoration and nothing else.
I also took some pictures of Mr WithaY's crack. So to speak.
It was HUGE. It's all been fixed now, but it was exciting while it lasted.
Thanks a lot, Police State UK (TM).
I'm still very angry about it all. When I have stopped being so angry I might even blog about it, but not yet. Too painful.
Things I have seen on my travels of late include:
Two very excited West Ham fans on the Tube. As the journey progressed they donned more and more kit - hats, scarves, shirts. By the time I got off they were eagerly examining one anothers tickets for the match, and talking loudly about what a great night they were about to have. They both looked very young, and were clearly having the time of their lives. One of them gave up his seat to a lady, which I thought was polite. Although, now I think about it, she was very attractive, and neither of them gave up their seat to a much less attractive lady later in the trip. So, maybe an ulterior motive there.
As an aside, I often see people offering up seats on the Tube. It's less common to see someone ofering up a seat on the train out of Waterloo, but that would mean standing up for the bet part of an hour at least, so I can understand the reluctance.
I saw this on Tuesday night. A man got on the train at Salisbury and proceeded to eat his way through a whole pack of chocolate mini rolls. I have seldom seen anyone get less enjoyment out of food; he looked as though it was an exercise in energy restoration and nothing else.
If you look closely you will see the reflection of the naughty photographer in the window behind him.
Heh.I also took some pictures of Mr WithaY's crack. So to speak.
It was HUGE. It's all been fixed now, but it was exciting while it lasted.
This one looks like an arty album cover.
This one makes it look like we live in Bavaria. We don't.
Other news: I have been partaking of some Culture. We watched The Hurt Locker the other weekend. It was ok, felt more like a documentary than anything else, but without any kind of editorial focus. I'm not sure why it won so many Oscars. I didn't engage with any of the characters and thought it was far too long. Maybe that was the point, I dunno.
Also watched District 9 last weekend which I thoroughly enjoyed. Much bleaker and sadder than I expected, and a lot more interesting to me. I daresay that tells a story about my psyche, but frankly I don't give a rat's arse, amateur psychologists. Ha!
A colleague lent me a book called Stasiland by Anna Funder which I read on the train, and thought it was excellent. It's all about life behind the Berlin Wall. The author is a lovely writer and a damn fine journalist. I recommend it.
I'd love to go back to Berlin. We lived there when I was little and went back for a visit a few years later when we went and looked at the Wall. It made a big impression.
I am waiting for some v important paperwork to show up this week, and when it does I need to book Mr WithaY and I an appointment at the American Embassy. Thanks to the SSFH* of last summer, we are no longer eligible for the Visa Waiver Programme, and need to get a tourist visa from the Embassy. In person.
So, $131 each for the interview (which is about £80), plus the cost of the train, plus £70 each (the cost of the Official Stuff from the police) on top of that...almost £300. And if we want to go to Canada, or Australia or South Africa, or America again, we go through it all each time.
Thanks a lot, Police State UK (TM).
I'm still very angry about it all. When I have stopped being so angry I might even blog about it, but not yet. Too painful.
Tra la laaaaaa.
Still on the weight loss plan, but annoyingly have put a pound and a half back on, which is not the right way round. I will stick with it though, I am determined to lose at least another stone before we go on holiday**.
*Shit Storm From Hades
**Assuming we get a fucking visa, of course. Gah.
Tuesday, 10 March 2009
Little things
Today I have been mostly fed up, and slightly weepy, but that might be because I have woken up at 0530 for the last few days, and it is a pain in the arse, frankly, being this tired.
Was in London today, but lacked the energy to walk anywhere. I only managed to drag my weary carcass across Westminster Bridge before catching the Tube this morning, and then copped out and got the Tube all the way back to Waterloo this evening.
Remembering that there is very little actual food in the house, I decided to call into the supermarket before I came home. In my head, this meant that I would eat a proper supper tonight and have food in the house tomorrow so I can eat sensibly during the day.
I fantasised about picking up a hot roasted chicken and some fresh salad, maybe with some fresh pineapple afterwards. However, at 8pm on a Tuesday night, the supermarket has sold all the hot chickens, cleaned the rotisserie, and is trying to flog off the rock hard baguettes to groups of young Scouse squaddies.
It is not interested in providing a well-chosen and dainty evening repast to a woman who has been travelling for fucking hours.
Supper this evening actually consisted of 2 Scotch eggs, a handful of little tiny cherry tomatoes, and a big glass of flat fizzy water with some lemongrass squash in it. I am waiting for a knock on the door from Jamie Oliver and the food police as I type.
Anyhoo, I was mooching around the place with my little hand basket, biting my lip and feeling sorry for myself, composing a sad, sad blog post in my head about how cruel everything is, and how unbearable, and how awful and lonely, and how much I hate my life. I was in some danger of going emo.
I rounded a corner into the MEAT aisle, and there in front of me was a large, rotund chap dressed in the height of West Wiltshire chic.
He had on a pair of baggy blue tracksuit bottoms, or possibly overalls, tucked into workboots liberally splattered with crud. His huge saggy torso was encased in an ancient, equally saggy, green sweatshirt, also crud-encrusted. Topping off the ensemble was a jaunty black woollen hat, looking much like the teat of a baby's bottle, perched high on his head, emphasising his red cheeks and shiny jowls.
I sighed heavily, thinking how terrible life is when you are faced with such things.
As I dragged myself past him, possibly swinging my arms like Kevin the Teenager, I heard the opening bars of "Oi've got a braaan new comboin aaaarvester". I shook my head, clearly overtired and imagining Wurzels songs in the middle of the supermarket.
But no. Mr West Wiltshire Fashion reached into the pocket of his trousers, pulled out his mobile, and answered it with a huge grin on his face, after letting the Wurzels get almost all the way through the first verse.
It made me laugh out loud, just as soon as I got round the corner, and suddenly life felt less like a hideous struggle.
Other news: Mr WithaY called from his windswept hostel in the remote Welsh countryside, which was lovely. I am missing him very much, and plan to hide his passport when he comes home, just in case. And possibly all his trousers.
Was in London today, but lacked the energy to walk anywhere. I only managed to drag my weary carcass across Westminster Bridge before catching the Tube this morning, and then copped out and got the Tube all the way back to Waterloo this evening.
Remembering that there is very little actual food in the house, I decided to call into the supermarket before I came home. In my head, this meant that I would eat a proper supper tonight and have food in the house tomorrow so I can eat sensibly during the day.
I fantasised about picking up a hot roasted chicken and some fresh salad, maybe with some fresh pineapple afterwards. However, at 8pm on a Tuesday night, the supermarket has sold all the hot chickens, cleaned the rotisserie, and is trying to flog off the rock hard baguettes to groups of young Scouse squaddies.
It is not interested in providing a well-chosen and dainty evening repast to a woman who has been travelling for fucking hours.
Supper this evening actually consisted of 2 Scotch eggs, a handful of little tiny cherry tomatoes, and a big glass of flat fizzy water with some lemongrass squash in it. I am waiting for a knock on the door from Jamie Oliver and the food police as I type.
Anyhoo, I was mooching around the place with my little hand basket, biting my lip and feeling sorry for myself, composing a sad, sad blog post in my head about how cruel everything is, and how unbearable, and how awful and lonely, and how much I hate my life. I was in some danger of going emo.
I rounded a corner into the MEAT aisle, and there in front of me was a large, rotund chap dressed in the height of West Wiltshire chic.
He had on a pair of baggy blue tracksuit bottoms, or possibly overalls, tucked into workboots liberally splattered with crud. His huge saggy torso was encased in an ancient, equally saggy, green sweatshirt, also crud-encrusted. Topping off the ensemble was a jaunty black woollen hat, looking much like the teat of a baby's bottle, perched high on his head, emphasising his red cheeks and shiny jowls.
I sighed heavily, thinking how terrible life is when you are faced with such things.
As I dragged myself past him, possibly swinging my arms like Kevin the Teenager, I heard the opening bars of "Oi've got a braaan new comboin aaaarvester". I shook my head, clearly overtired and imagining Wurzels songs in the middle of the supermarket.
But no. Mr West Wiltshire Fashion reached into the pocket of his trousers, pulled out his mobile, and answered it with a huge grin on his face, after letting the Wurzels get almost all the way through the first verse.
It made me laugh out loud, just as soon as I got round the corner, and suddenly life felt less like a hideous struggle.
Other news: Mr WithaY called from his windswept hostel in the remote Welsh countryside, which was lovely. I am missing him very much, and plan to hide his passport when he comes home, just in case. And possibly all his trousers.
Monday, 26 January 2009
Starstruck
On the Tube on the way back to Waterloo tonight, who should whack me with his laptop case in passing, but Phill Jupitus?
And spookily, I had just been thinking about the last time I saw him on the Tube, wondering if he travelled on that line much. And as if in response to my pondering, there he was, on the Tube, in my carriage, accidentally brushing my leg* with his laptop case.
Other news: Boy am I tired.
That is all.
*I exaggerated when I said he whacked me.
And spookily, I had just been thinking about the last time I saw him on the Tube, wondering if he travelled on that line much. And as if in response to my pondering, there he was, on the Tube, in my carriage, accidentally brushing my leg* with his laptop case.
Other news: Boy am I tired.
That is all.
*I exaggerated when I said he whacked me.
Saturday, 6 December 2008
Not tired of life yet
It's been sunny here for two days in a row. That's more than the weather managed all bloody summer I think.
Was in London on Thursday, when it was NOT sunny. No, it rained. All day, as far as I could tell, and in Biblical proportion. I walked from Victoria station to my office, where I saw a man with extremely elegant shoes completely fail to spot the huge, wide, deep puddle, and wade right through it. He seemed to be occupied with his phone or his iPod or some such toy, and wasn't looking where he was going. So it was kind of self-inflicted. He went the rest of the way doing that one-foot-shake walk. Heh.
I took the lovely Z's advice and checked out the list of Tube stations it is quicker to walk between. Waterloo and Embankment, apparently. I decided to test this, and on the way home I got off the Tube at Embankment, then walked across the river to Waterloo.
Not only did it take if not quite less time, then certainly not much more, it was a nice little bit of exercise (those stairs up onto the bridge!) and it was lovely seeing the city all lit up. I will take my camera and do some pictures next week if I remember.
There was a Christmas fair going on along the South Bank, with stands selling German Food (and why is everything German so much more Christmassy? Answers please) and various other attractions. I didn't stand and look properly as I was in a bit of a hurry to get my train. The South American band who busk under the bridge were playing Christmas songs, rather than the music of the ancient Aztecs, which was lovely to walk along listening to.
I was on the train with a few minutes to spare, so I shall be doing that again. It was less stressful (no worrying about when the next train was turning up), it was lovely to be out in the evening air, and I felt like I stretched my legs a bit after a long day at my desk.
I had considered going out at lunchtime to the big Marks and Spencer close to the office, it being sale day and all, but decided against it. Every time I went to look at it out of the window it was buzzing like a kicked anthill.
In the afternoon I had a meeting on the 8th floor, and gawped out of the window on the landing afterwards. We overlook Buckingham Palace. How chic. Didn't see any members of the Royal household gawping back, twitching the diamond-encrusted net curtains and tutting about the nosy neighbours.
I'm really enjoying London. I daresay the honeymoon will wear off eventually but right now every time I go up to the office it feels like a bit of an adventure. It helps that I am getting to grips with the job too.
Remember I was banging on about people eating delicious-smelling food on trains, and how it ought to be a capital offence? Yeah you do.
Well, there was a chap the other day who topped that particular piece of travel misbehaviour. He was on his mobile to his (presumably) wife, ordering what sounded like a fantastic Indian takeaway, detailing the types of meat dishes, rice, breads, sundries and side dishes. "I'll meet you at the station in 40 minutes, please pick it up on the way to there darling."
Bastard.
I think everyone within earshot's stomach was rumbling as he reeled off the menu. "Yes, the lamb samosa...with chutney. And a chicken biriyani...yes, with the vegetable curry. And a keema naan. Or, no, make that a Peshwari naan. In fact, get both." And on and on it went.
I sat there, wishing I had had the foresight to bring my dull, sad, dry cereal bar with me, instead of leaving it in my desk drawer.
On the bright side, I have lost some weight since starting the new job. Yay me.
Other news: Mr WithaY is finally getting over a heavy cold. I think it is the same cold he had last week, and it never really went away. He spent 3 days this week either in bed or sitting listlessly on the sofa, wrapped in many heavy layers. He is on the mend though, and hopefully has had his share of bugs for the Winter.
I have been offering tea and sympathy from a distance.
Was in London on Thursday, when it was NOT sunny. No, it rained. All day, as far as I could tell, and in Biblical proportion. I walked from Victoria station to my office, where I saw a man with extremely elegant shoes completely fail to spot the huge, wide, deep puddle, and wade right through it. He seemed to be occupied with his phone or his iPod or some such toy, and wasn't looking where he was going. So it was kind of self-inflicted. He went the rest of the way doing that one-foot-shake walk. Heh.
I took the lovely Z's advice and checked out the list of Tube stations it is quicker to walk between. Waterloo and Embankment, apparently. I decided to test this, and on the way home I got off the Tube at Embankment, then walked across the river to Waterloo.
Not only did it take if not quite less time, then certainly not much more, it was a nice little bit of exercise (those stairs up onto the bridge!) and it was lovely seeing the city all lit up. I will take my camera and do some pictures next week if I remember.
There was a Christmas fair going on along the South Bank, with stands selling German Food (and why is everything German so much more Christmassy? Answers please) and various other attractions. I didn't stand and look properly as I was in a bit of a hurry to get my train. The South American band who busk under the bridge were playing Christmas songs, rather than the music of the ancient Aztecs, which was lovely to walk along listening to.
I was on the train with a few minutes to spare, so I shall be doing that again. It was less stressful (no worrying about when the next train was turning up), it was lovely to be out in the evening air, and I felt like I stretched my legs a bit after a long day at my desk.
I had considered going out at lunchtime to the big Marks and Spencer close to the office, it being sale day and all, but decided against it. Every time I went to look at it out of the window it was buzzing like a kicked anthill.
In the afternoon I had a meeting on the 8th floor, and gawped out of the window on the landing afterwards. We overlook Buckingham Palace. How chic. Didn't see any members of the Royal household gawping back, twitching the diamond-encrusted net curtains and tutting about the nosy neighbours.
I'm really enjoying London. I daresay the honeymoon will wear off eventually but right now every time I go up to the office it feels like a bit of an adventure. It helps that I am getting to grips with the job too.
Remember I was banging on about people eating delicious-smelling food on trains, and how it ought to be a capital offence? Yeah you do.
Well, there was a chap the other day who topped that particular piece of travel misbehaviour. He was on his mobile to his (presumably) wife, ordering what sounded like a fantastic Indian takeaway, detailing the types of meat dishes, rice, breads, sundries and side dishes. "I'll meet you at the station in 40 minutes, please pick it up on the way to there darling."
Bastard.
I think everyone within earshot's stomach was rumbling as he reeled off the menu. "Yes, the lamb samosa...with chutney. And a chicken biriyani...yes, with the vegetable curry. And a keema naan. Or, no, make that a Peshwari naan. In fact, get both." And on and on it went.
I sat there, wishing I had had the foresight to bring my dull, sad, dry cereal bar with me, instead of leaving it in my desk drawer.
On the bright side, I have lost some weight since starting the new job. Yay me.
Other news: Mr WithaY is finally getting over a heavy cold. I think it is the same cold he had last week, and it never really went away. He spent 3 days this week either in bed or sitting listlessly on the sofa, wrapped in many heavy layers. He is on the mend though, and hopefully has had his share of bugs for the Winter.
I have been offering tea and sympathy from a distance.
Tuesday, 28 October 2008
Discoveries
This week I have mostly been learning about transport around London. I found out how to check how much credit is on my Oyster card*, how to get a seat on the Tube**, and how to get to the front of the queue on the escalator***.
It's been a week of making learning fun.
I stayed at Middle Sis's house on Monday night, which was nice, although I was so knackered that I went to bed before the children did. How sad and old am I, eh?
Due to my stupid initial "being flexible" approach, I have to go into the office on Wednesday (ie tomorrow), making it 3 days in a row in town. Gah. Still, I have now blanked out Wednesdays and Fridays on my calendar and told people I am not in London on those days. I will probably end up having a reputation as an awkward old bag, but hey, I'll get to do my 2 days a week working at home, which was one of the provisos of me taking the job in the first place.
Other news: Went to see my gorgeous guitar teacher's band at the weekend, which was entertaining. On Saturday I went with Bestest Mate to Shaftesbury where we wandered about admiring the surreal shop window displays.
My favourite was the one which had two mannequins with hilariously poor Beatles wigs and guitars, and a series of round flat black plates (I think) with home-made labels on them saying things like "Penny Lane", (had a penny taped to the label), "Love Me Do" (had a load of glittery hearts scattered around) and various others, all in slightly different fonts and layouts. It was like an episode of Father Ted.
Somebody wants to win a prize.
Also, my mate Andy was here this evening for a flying visit, and brought his guitar, so we had a bit of a jam together. Was marvellous. He is really good, and can sing so we did a few songs together that sounded really nice. Unfortunately I am still coughing too much to sing decently, but it was nice to see him and have a go.
Had a message on the answerphone from Mr WithaY in Mexico. He sounds well, and it was lovely to hear his voice. I am pining a bit, it has to be said. What a sap I am.
Right. It's after 10...I need to go to bed or I won't be able to leap out of bed at 0600 with a song in my heart and a smile on my lips. Gah.
*the internet, obviously
**Cough and glare like a madwoman
***shove and barge, and cough as if you are dying of TB
It's been a week of making learning fun.
I stayed at Middle Sis's house on Monday night, which was nice, although I was so knackered that I went to bed before the children did. How sad and old am I, eh?
Due to my stupid initial "being flexible" approach, I have to go into the office on Wednesday (ie tomorrow), making it 3 days in a row in town. Gah. Still, I have now blanked out Wednesdays and Fridays on my calendar and told people I am not in London on those days. I will probably end up having a reputation as an awkward old bag, but hey, I'll get to do my 2 days a week working at home, which was one of the provisos of me taking the job in the first place.
Other news: Went to see my gorgeous guitar teacher's band at the weekend, which was entertaining. On Saturday I went with Bestest Mate to Shaftesbury where we wandered about admiring the surreal shop window displays.
My favourite was the one which had two mannequins with hilariously poor Beatles wigs and guitars, and a series of round flat black plates (I think) with home-made labels on them saying things like "Penny Lane", (had a penny taped to the label), "Love Me Do" (had a load of glittery hearts scattered around) and various others, all in slightly different fonts and layouts. It was like an episode of Father Ted.
Somebody wants to win a prize.
Also, my mate Andy was here this evening for a flying visit, and brought his guitar, so we had a bit of a jam together. Was marvellous. He is really good, and can sing so we did a few songs together that sounded really nice. Unfortunately I am still coughing too much to sing decently, but it was nice to see him and have a go.
Had a message on the answerphone from Mr WithaY in Mexico. He sounds well, and it was lovely to hear his voice. I am pining a bit, it has to be said. What a sap I am.
Right. It's after 10...I need to go to bed or I won't be able to leap out of bed at 0600 with a song in my heart and a smile on my lips. Gah.
*the internet, obviously
**Cough and glare like a madwoman
***shove and barge, and cough as if you are dying of TB
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