You couldn't script it

Last Thursday evening the traffic coming out of London was horrendous, bumper to bastard bumper all the way through the centre. When I was just coming out of Kensington, I noticed flashing blue lights up ahead and naturally assumed that there had been an accident and that's what was causing the queues. As I approached, the inside lane had been coned off and there was a line of cars within the coned lane. A policeman was standing in the road and as I got closer, he pointed at me and waved me into the queue. I thought that it must be some sort of security check that happens from time to time. I stopped, and this fella with a fluorescent bib and a clipboard approached me and said 'We are doing a survey for Transport For London and wondered if you mind answering a few questions'. You could have knocked me down with a feather. I said 'Do I have to?' and he said I didn't, but it would help them improve the traffic flow through the city if I did. I said 'I will offer you this: coning off a third of one of the busiest roads in the northern hemisphere at peak hour to conduct a survey is precisely the opposite of how to improve the traffic flow through the city'. How stupid are these people?

Xmas gets earlier and earlier

I swear to God, I took this photo on the 7th of October. I'm not sure if the display has been there since last year, but for goodness sake, when I took the photo, it was still 79 days before 25th of December. God I hate Xmas. Let me ammend that; God I hate the commercialism of Xmas. I fear next year someone, somewhere, will have decorations up in June.

Strictly come dancing

What the hell is this all about? It wouldn't be so bad if it was just a bunch of z-list celebrities prancing about trying to add a few seconds of 'fame' onto their 15 minutes, then I could just disregard it as another crap show on terrestrial television. I was horrified when Darren Gough was in it last year. What was he thinking? He's been one of the best aggressive England bowlers in my lifetime, I really don't want to see him doing the tango with some over tanned bint with a scary grin on her mush. I might let that one slip as he's a bit of a poser, earinged up and all that, and has an ego the size of Egypt.

Now this year Matt Dawson, a rugby world cup winner, and Mark Rampracash, one of the best county cricketers of all time are at it. What is the world coming to? Don't these men have any shame? Men dancing without the aid of some narcotic is just not right. It's bad enough that men seem to think wearing bright pink shirts is acceptable, but the thought of some of my all time sporting heroes spiraling about in overtight trousers AND taking it seriously just makes me want to pull my satellite dish off the roof. I just pray to the big G in the sky that these folk get beaten to a pulp when they return to their respective sporting teams.

A plea to all people I have respect for: don't.

Daylight saving is a bastard

Every 6 months I ask myself the same question, 'What is the point of daylight saving?' I can't fathom it out. I've heard many different theories as to why we still put the clocks forwards and backwards in Britain, but none make sense. After all, it's the sun that dictates how many hours of daylight you have in a day, not tinkering with your watch. Give the farmers more daylight hours? Hmmm. As we live in a northern isle, the daylight hours fluctuate dramatically over the course of the year. In summer it can get light at 4am and dark at 10pm, so what's the big deal about the winter, without putting the clocks back it would get light at 9:30am instead of 8:30am and dark at 5:30pm instead of 4:30pm (personally I would prefer a lighter evening over a lighter morning). I was in Lapland a couple of Xmases ago and it got light at 11am and dark at 2pm, it was no big deal, that's just the way it is. Ok, the locals were all as mad as reindeers, but hey, that's what made the place interesting.

I think I am like some farmyard animal, I just get all confused, and it ain't just me. I have been following the Moto GP with great interest all year and was looking forward to yesterday's climax. It's the first time in 7 years that the championship would be settled at the final race. I couldn't watch it live as I had to visit relatives, so I set up the recorder to catch the action. On returning home last night at 5pm, in the dark, I dispatched the wife upstairs and settled down to watch the race. Hitting 'play' I was greeted with tennis, so I skipped forward a few chapters. Tennis, tennis, tennis, DVD runs out. WTF? I then twigged, my DVD recorder doesn't automatically adjust the time when the clocks go back, so I missed the race. Excellent.

The clock next to my bed seems to add on about 15 seconds every day and is currently about 20 minutes fast. That's ok, I've got used to it and as it's fast, I know I can have an extra 5 minutes in bed here and there and I'm still early when I eventually get up. Subconsciously in my sleep last night I knew that something was up. I woke up every half an hour and was doing mental arithmetic trying to work out what time it was. Ok, it's not that complicated when you are awake, but when you are in and out of sleep, simple tasks of seeing number, deleting one are like trying to understand 'A Brief History Of Time'. Now I have to try and figure out how to set the clock or else I'm going to go through the same trauma tonight.

None of the above would have happened if wasn't for this pesky daylight saving.

Fag scags

If one more person asks if he/she can 'borrow' a fag today, I'm going to stick a gun up their ass and pull the f***ing trigger until it goes click.

Today's dilema

I'm trying to decide whether it is worse to be over or under-worked. Being bored wouldn't be so bad if my screen wasn't facing the rest of the office.

Bikes, public transport, money

I had to take my bike in for it's 12000 mile service this week (I'm ashamed to say that it actually has 23000 on the clock). The last time I had it serviced was at 7000 miles, so I've gone 16000 without one. Considering I almost never use the thing other than my daily commute, which is 35 miles each way, that means approx 450 journeys in and out of London without a service. I expected the worse. It could have been worse I guess, I managed to get away with only having to replace both tyres, both sets of brakes, my chain, both sprockets, oil filter and air filter, together with all the other bits and pieces that come along with a regular service. I got all that done for a princely sum of £430 which I think, considering the extensive work that needed doing, was reasonable. The mechanic told me that if ever I wanted to knacker a bike as quickly as possible, riding 20 miles on a motorway and then 15 through the streets of London was probably the easiest way of doing it. He also said my back brake was so worn it was like I had ridden 1000 miles with my foot hard down on it. Oh well.

Because of the amount of work needed to restore my pride and joy into a roadworthy vehicle, the garage needed to keep it over the weekend and into Tuesday, meaning that I had to rely on public transport to get into work. It's been months since I took the train so I was actually looking forward to it, and also meant I could have a bit of a lie-in which is something I can never normally do on a school day.

When I got to the station, there was a queue out of the ticket office door because the two self service machines outside (in the rain) were busted. No matter, I queued up dilligently with all the others. Farnborough station is about 30 miles from Waterloo, yet my ticket cost £26.70 for a day return. Ouch. It costs me about £5 in petrol on the bike. As I was queuing, a train arrived and about half the queue made a dash for it, risking the 'minimum £20 penalty should you fail to have a valid ticket for the entire duration of your journey'. This is my first moan. Now it's bad enough that you have to pay such exhorbatant rates for such a short distance, but to be fined for not travelling with a ticket is out of order. Especially when, like Tuesday, the ticket machines were down and there are only 2 cashiers working. And there is always some dickhead in the queue ahead of you who wants to cash in a year's ticket that he hasn't used, but wants the money in pound coins and luncheon vouchers, and 'whilst I'm here, can you give me a price for a ticket to Swindon, no, that's too expensive, how about Malsmbury...' You know what I mean. It seems that South West Trains couldn't care less how difficult they actually make it for one to get a ticket, but why should they care, they can sting all non-ticket carrying passengers. Anyway...

So I missed the first train, never mind, I was sure that the next one would be along within a few minutes. Uhuh, 25 mintes until the next one. I pretty much had the platform to myself, so thought that life wasn't so bad, at least there will be less people on the next train. Well, I had that thought for the next 20 minutes but with 5 minutes until the next train, the population of a mid-sized village suddenly appeared. They all gathered in small clumps about 5 metres apart. I thought maybe they knew each other. The train approached so I stood, alone, between two of these clumps. As the train pulled in and ground to a halt, I realised that the reason people accumulate in little groups is because that's where the doors appear when the train stops. Shit man, how long have these people been commuting to know exactly where to stand? One of the groups misjudged the angle of the doors and had to do some shuffling to the left. I, of course, was stuck between two doors so had to join the back of one of the groups. I always think commuters look a little like sheep the way they are all herded together, but as the doors opened, they all turned into wolves and there was much shoving and pushing. But being British, it was ever so polite. I was last on the train but still found a seat to myself with little bother, and I didn't have to deck someone to get it so felt quite happy with myself. The rest of the journey was rather uneventful although slightly delayed. Tube at the other end was on time, empty and I got to work earlier than I expected albeit slightly flustered and a little overheated after the seering temps on the tube.

Going home was fun though. Tube journey, again, was uneventful and I managed to get from my office, to Oxford Circus Tube, to Waterloo in about 15 minutes which has to be some sort of record. At Waterloo there were people gathered around the little televisions and darting about all over the place like bees in a hive. I forgot to check what times my trains were so I had to jostle for a spot by one of the teles. Delays delays delays. Ah, I remember now why I bought the bike in the first place! I hadn't been waiting long before a train that was delayed for 21 minutes arrived on platform 9 ^3/4 and I pegged it up the steps to get there. Now another moan, on arriving at the platform, the train wasn't there. Why do they announce a train arriving at a platform before it arrives? It just means that every son of a bitch who wants that train ends up on the platform waiting, shoving, jostling. If they announced the platform once the train is ready to board, then it would be a lot more civilised as it would spread out the mass. Or is that just me being sensible? It's a bit like all the pubs and clubs closing at the same time. I learnt from my morning journey and looked about for a clump that seemed to know their stuff. Lo and behold, when the train arrived, the doors were smack bang in front of me. There were about 5 or 6 people ahead or beside me when the doors opened, but I swear I was about 15th on the train, I must work on my shove technique. Finding a seat was trickier, but I managed to get one by a window. Then some f***knuckle wedges himself in next to me and that was it for the entire journey. I'm glad it's such a short commute or else DVT would really have kicked in. I really value my personal space, but it appears that most commuters don't. I wasn't sure whether this guy was just selfish or if he was coming onto me he was so close.

It wasn't a bad journey I suppose, although the 35 minutes it should have taken ended up being 52 minutes. Add the 21 minutes that the train was late arriving at Waterloo, and I'd say that was pretty darn late in anyone's book. I suppose it wasn't all that bad, but I don't know how people do it every day, it is soul destroying. I did for about 4 years and that's why I bought the bike. I do feel sorry for the people that have to spend all that money for such a poor service, and have no other option. Trust me, the Farnborough to Waterloo service is actually really efficient compared to other ones I've travelled on as well. I'm glad I've got the bike back now and will be happy to sit in traffic for the next 6000 miles before another service takes me back onto the rail tracks.

Moan over.

Google blog beta thing

I'm about to take the plunge. If everything I have written over the last few months dissapears, I want you to know that it has been fun. So long...

I am a criminal

Hmm, thought I had better check with the bank before heading off to the garage to confront the nazi. It would seem that what I did is considered fraud and the bank said I was lucky that the cashier never phoned the police. Whoops! You learn something new every day.

Nearly a criminal

I was within a moment of getting arrested this morning. I had my bike serviced, and had to collect it first thing. The missus said I could put it on her credit card, because my finances wouldn't stretch to the many dozens of pounds that the bill came to. She gave me the card and the pin number and I collected my bike and paid for it without any problems. I needed some petrol so pulled into the nearest garage and filled up. I handed over the credit card to the cashier and he swiped it through the machine, and then handed me a bit of paper
'Sign this please.'
Er, I wasn't expecting that, I thought everything was chip and pin these days (pin number scrawled in biro on the palm of my hand in case I forgot it)? I explained that it was actually my wife's card and I would not and could not sign the slip, and said I will use my card to pay instead. Words like 'highly irregular', 'illegal' and most worrying 'police' were said in my direction whilst I hunted in my bag for my card. So I paid on my card and he said
'You said this was your wife's card?'
'Indeed it is, jobsworth type fellow'
'Well the surnames are totally different'.
Ok, 1-0 to you. My wife, in her wisdom, has never changed her documentation into her married name.
He then called his supervisor and asked him. The guy looked at me and said
'Do you have your partner's phone number so we can contact her'.
'I do have my wife's phone number' and proceeded to dig around in my bag again for my phone. He then said
'You look like you have an honest face, I'm sure you are not lying'. Gee thanks pal. He then gave me the card back and said 'You are free to go'. I think he's been watching too many episodes of 'Taggart'.
I hot-tailed it out of there and was really upset, shit man, I could have been in prison.

Then I thought, is it really illegal to use someone else's credit card? I know me and the wife do it all the time and I never considered anything being wrong with it. Ok, in the past when you had to sign for something we never did, but now chip and pin is in, we do. And what about at work? If I need software or a book that's bought online, or have to buy a train ticket I will use the company credit card. So I did some googling and after 20 minutes or so, I couldn't find anywhere that says it's illegal. I'm sure the cuffs will come out if you try and use a card that has been reported stolen, but just to use someone else's card. Nah, guy was full of shit and I am going to stop by the garage on the way home and have it out with him. Stupid cock, gave me a right scare he did.

Southend 2 Coventry 3

Goals from Hughes, Cameron and (shock horror) Adebola. 1-0, 1-1, 1-2, 2-2, 2-3. Nice.

Holes

I'm unsure whether it is council sponsered or if some vandal with a spade is at large, but London has been dug up. I swear, on my route in and out of London there are 4 different holes that have been dug in the road. Nothing seems to be happening just a huge hole surrounded by traffic cones and bunting. I've yet to see any workmen at said holes, no trucks, no machinery, no signs giving me a clue. Just holes. They have been like this for about 2 weeks with little sign of them being filled in. You can imagine the chaos they are causing with the traffic. Coupled with the roadworks by Harrods and the narrowing of the lanes on the Hammersmith flyover, commuting to and from London is a nightmare at the moment.

Holy water

I was having a few beers in my usual haunt last weekend and ended up having a chat with the local vicar. He's a good lad, probably my age, big football fan (West Brom - he has a shirt with '9 Rev' on the back). He grabbed my attention by singing 'You're shit and you know you are' and pointing at me. We both share a passion for useless footbal teams you see. I noticed he had a love bite on his neck, which brought some unwelcome imagery to mind. But then he isn't Catholic so I assume it wasn't from a choirboy. Anyway, we finished our drinks and I offered to buy him another. (I was thinking being generous might buy me some favour with the big guy in the sky). He declined politely and told me the last time he drank with me he dropped the communion cup in mass the following morning as his hands were shaking so much. I'm unsure whether this is a compliment or if I am going to get struck by lightning.

Overheard

Overheard in the office:
Can I have 2 minutes with you when you get a second?

Lottery winner

I get an email this morning:
We have some exciting news about the ticket that you bought for the Friday 06 October draw. Please Sign In to your Account for more details.

I won £6.60. Best cancel the mortgage on the flat in Monaco then. I wish they had said We have some exciting news about the ticket..., but don't get too excited, you are still poor.