The House Husband

This evening, Mirinda & I were sitting on the 5pm train (along with a few others) and it pulled into Clapham Junction. This isn’t unusual; it is scheduled to do this. What was unusual was the station guy running up and down the platform yelling at people, telling them ours was the last train and they’d better get on it. He was yelling very loudly, almost pushing passengers into our carriage. If they even looked like they were going to answer him back, he told them they’d have to change at Woking because “…THIS is the last train!”

Mirinda started to get uneasy, wondering what he meant, thinking, maybe, we shouldn’t be on the train because something had happened. I explained to her that if the guy was correct and this WAS the last train, we wanted to be on it. She didn’t look entirely convinced by my unassailable logic but tried to relax anyway and continued telling me about…well, it’s a secret but suffice to say, she continued talking about work.

The train ran perfectly fine, all the way home, without a hiccough or minor delay. There was nothing to indicate why our train was the last one. Or to where. All very strange. Other than this, there was nothing else particularly strange about my day.

I went to work and researched two very interesting chaps (one a chemist, the other the engineer who invented mauve) and a few diabolical companies that took some serious digging. And at lunchtime I popped up to the first floor.

I have decided to explore the museum in my lunch times – after eating of course. Today I decided to look at the time gallery. In order to get there, I had to pass through the section on agriculture. I’m not that big on agriculture but I do like big engines and the tractors were really something. However, the best thing was the models. It was like ‘It’s a Small World After All‘ but with farm machinery rather than weird, scary looking dolls. I wanted to take one home with me. In fact, I wanted to take THIS one home with me.

Martin's Cultivator

This little bad boy was patented in 1828. It was streets ahead of the competition because of the tines. They were the end points of big springs. This gave the thing a bit of freedom rather than being rigid – that was SO last year. This made life a whole lot easier down on the farm. They were nicely adjustable as well so the depth could be controlled. The big red levers are for lifting them clear of the ground when turning. What a guy Martin clearly was.

Just to prove he wasn’t a one trick pony, in the 1920′s his company built a fire engine. Anyone near the Somerset Rural Life Museum can actually go and see one of Martin’s cultivators, full size and in the flesh (so to speak). The barest of information about the museum is here.

But enough of Martin and his cultivator…as a follow up to the photo I posted on Wednesday showing the milko, here’s how they do it these days.

Milk delivery in 2011

Not only is the thing electric but it has two people to work it! Sometimes people just have no idea how good they have it.

What an exciting day. Not one but two trips to London. Firstly, a lovely wander around St Katharine Docks with Mirinda which I will post about later. Secondly a rather unexpected mercy dash.

It was 9:36pm and the phone rang. I was absorbed in the England v Egypt friendly match live from Wembley. England started playing pretty badly but, after a half time dressing down by the manager, they had scored twice and were totally dominating the game. I put the TV on mute and answered the phone.

A faint voice was on the other end. So faint I could hardly hear it. I thought an alien was trying to contact me from the rings of Saturn. Then I realised it was Mirinda, sounding like she was way down a well.

“I’ve locked myself out of the flat,” she whispered, mysteriously.
“How did you do that?” I asked, chuckling inwardly.
“That’s not important,” Came a curt response. “Can you come over with your set, please?”
“It’s 9:37,” I said, looking at the clock. “I’ll have to leave NOW!”

I hung up, put the dogs in the dining room, changed out of my pyjamas and back into my jeans & t-shirt, grabbed my bag and raced out of the house. I had to make the 10pm or I’d never make it back home. I jogged most of the way to the station, making it in a record time – less than 15 minutes.

The journey back into London was uneventful, though strangely crowded. I was first off the train, rushing to the ATM for some cash then into the first cab at the rank. The driver kindly told me the end result of the football (England won 3-1) and managed to get me to the flat in eight minutes.

I raced in and Mirinda was nowhere to be found. I looked into the flat. It was like she’d just disappeared. Or stepped out for a moment. I wondered where she was waiting and then the brilliant thought struck me. She’d be downstairs in the pool area.

I ran down the stairs, two at a time to find her sitting just inside the door, wedged open with a wet floor sign because it automatically locks at 11pm, reading. She was surprised I’d been so quick.

We went back upstairs and I let her in. She then admitted that she’d taken her washing downstairs and realised, far too late, that she’d taken the wrong keys with her. She’d had to borrow some stranger’s phone to call me, which explained why she had been so curt.

But there was little time to chat. A quick visit to the loo, a quick glass of water and I was off again.

I had to get back to Waterloo before midnight or I’d be back at the flat. I ran out into the main street and flagged down a cab. He raced across London, dropping me outside the main entrance just two minutes late for the 11:23. Damn.

I had time for a coffee before boarding the next train to Woking. The last train to Alton leaves Woking at 12:40. The train I was on was crawling along and I was frantically willing it to go faster.

As it turned out I arrived ten minutes before it left. In fact, it was sitting at the station waiting for me.

I finally arrived back home at about 1:30, exhausted. As I opened the front door I was attacked by two excited poodles. I realised I’d raced out so quickly, I’d forgotten to close the door to the dining room. They took an age to calm down.

So. Now I’m going to sleep. It’s been a big day.