Travel chaos hits London as almost every line shuts down. The Vol-in-Law only barely made it home after being turned away from several major stations. Commuters face more misery as tube strike to last for days.
I’m on maternity leave.
Ha ha ha ha ha ha.
This morning I saw two little old Australian ladies bickering about where they needed to change on the Northern Line. One of them, the one who had paid attention, thought they were on the right line. The other one was convinced they needed to change at Kennington. (This would have put them on the wrong branch of the Northern Line – probably resulting in significant delay). The little old Australian man who was with them – he just sat there, he didn’t say nothin’.
Now, the one in the wrong appeared to be winning the argument. I couldn’t stand to see them amble off lost and confused – so I butted in. I asked which station they were going to, they told me and I confirmed that they should stay put.
Well, unfortunately the little old Australian lady who I backed up thought this meant I was some kind of authority on the Underground and London:
Q: Why is the Metropolitan line delayed this morning?
A: I don’t know, but there’s always something wrong with some line.
Q: You can tell which branch of the Northern line you get on because of the sign, right?
A: No, don’t trust that. Don’t even trust the announcement – because sometimes they change their mind.
Q: Do you know the history of Elephant and Castle? Why is it called Elephant and Castle?
A: I don’t know.
Some guy just skied down the longest up-escalator in Europe. Which happens to be at Angel Tube Station in North London – on the Northern line – which is my line.
The Metropolitan Police are examining the video for clues. The Transport for London Ungerground people are furious.
My view is – it’s ok to laugh and to support public prosecution. No one was hurt and my journey wasn’t delayed. But we don’t really want to encourage such num-nut behaviour – do we?
Annie Mole of Underground blogging fame writes about her pet peeve:
People with loud music carrying through their headphones is a pet hate of mine and many others.
I’ve taken to the closest you can get to London opprobrium for those who emit high levels of headphone leakage. A mean squint and direct eye contact. In terms of London discourse, I think the next step on the ladder is violent affray. I have regular fantasies about snip-snipping the headphone wires of offenders.
I’ve noticed more often than not that if I can hear headphone leakage then the wires are white. Meaning crappy Apple iPod headphones.
I’ve been told by someone in the know that the headphones are manufactured not by Apple but by some other well-known company – and it’s really all their fault. So you say…
But I’ll still be suing Apple when I go on iPod rage and really hurt somebody. (Oh, woman sitting next to me with your hip hop leakage last night on the Victoria line you came awful close. You’re lucky that I only squinted at you and silently cursed you with a wish that you suffer long term hearing damage instead.)
There’ve been high winds today. No, not like kite flying winds. Like 9 people dead winds.
I managed to get home with minor delays in the one window of time I think that the Northern line was working.
Now, I understand that wind can cause major disruption. But just how windy was it, you know, Underground?
What’s one to do if one fails to bring sufficiently interesting reading material during one’s commute on the Underground?
Read over someone’s shoulder of course.
I just happened to glance at my neighbour’s book. It had a page of jokes. Oh, what joy. Ideal reading-over-the-shoulder type material. I only managed to get one joke down while he was next to me, but it kinda tickled me all the same.
A chicken is lying back against the pillows, smoking a cigarettte, a satisfied grin on his beak.
An egg is lying next to the chicken, frowning and frustrated.
The chicken says “Well, I guess that answered that question then.”
I’m going to work – on the tube (yes, I am late). I am watching a woman go through her purse and dump old receipts into the empty seat next to her. I am doing it surreptitiously – my gaze is lowered as a respectful Londoner’s should be.
Now I am watchng her pick a few hairs out of her purse and dump it on top of the receipts. That’s not very nice.
Now I am watching her clean her hair out of her brush. She is pulling clumps of residual hair out of her brush and I know what she’s gonna do with it. I stare openly now – jaw dropped. She sees me, but I don’t look away. Yes, that’s right you are a nasty thing.
She drops the clot of hair back into her purse.
The Vol Abroad 