The House Husband

Yesterday the BBC news was all about the new Olympic stadium. It was exactly two years before the opening ceremony so they were looking at how it’s all going. Everyone is cheerful that it is all on schedule. There were lots of different people talking about the mounting excitement. There was a list of dates to remember – when you could sign up to volunteer, when you could enter the ballot for tickets, etc.

There was also a piece on female boxing, which will make an appearance for the first time in London. It’s beyond me why anyone would box let alone women. Still, each to his (or her) own. This thought struck me on the train home this afternoon. not the boxing, but the new events they introduce at the Olympics. I have one for them. I call it First Off The Train or FOTT for short.

The rules of FOTT are simple. It’s all about the strategy. How long to prolong the sitting down before standing in order to be first at the door in the carriage nearest the exit at the station. It’s a question of total points for various stages in the competition.

Some people are really pathetic; they really have no idea. Take this guy today. A total amateur. The train departed Aldershot and this guy immediately stands by the door, his finger already poised above the door open button. It’s six minutes between Aldershot and Farnham! Now, naturally, he’d get points for being the first off the train, say 3 points, but nothing for getting up so early.

Making the scoring as simple as possible, extra points would be awarded for the length of time before the station. So, on a six minute run, there’d be no points for six minutes, 1 for five minutes, 2 for four and so on.

The woman in the silver position performed much better. She waited until the on-board announcement before standing. This is generally about two minutes before arrival. She was closely followed by a steady stream of others. For this perfect positioning, she’d be awarded 4 points for waiting the extra four minutes. Receiving 2 more points for second place, she’d, in fact, win gold with 6 points in total.

Another 4 would go to the third person, giving him or her a total of 5 points and silver. And the loser who stood up for six minutes, tapping nervously away at the door release button would only receive bronze.

I figure some people are really, really weird.

I was in town today to have lunch with Mirinda, which I shared with one of her colleagues, and to take a penultimate load of stuff from Florin Court to the new flat. Interestingly, the cab cost exactly the same even though it was a busy, traffic laden trip on a Wednesday. Amazing. Love the London cabs, I do.

We have moved Mirinda into her new flat. I have to say that this has been the most painless move EVER. Though it took a little longer than both of us thought it would. This is mostly because of Transport for London but also because Mirinda has managed to acquire a lot of stuff in the short time she’s been at Florin Court.

Mirinda stayed in town Friday night so she could wash and pack, ready for me to arrive first thing. When I say first thing, I arrived at 11 but I was up early to take the poodles for a walk first thing. I was then on the train and then bus. And Mirinda had a surprise for me.

I had maintained that the move would take one trip in a taxi with two suitcases and a few bits and pieces. Boy, was I wrong. She’s already packed the two as well as having a whole collection of Hessian bags full of stuff. And the flat was still full of stuff!

Anyway, we took what we had and hailed a cab for the Isle of Dogs, arriving around 12. Mirinda collected the keys from the concierge, after a brief chat with a foul mouthed window cleaner who had a very original (ineffective) way of touting for business and we let ourselves in.

What a difference to Florin Court! In fact, the entire flat at Florin Court could probably fit into the new bedroom. There’s so much space that I’m sure it will take at least a month for Mirinda to fill it up. Here’s a picture of the lounge and kitchen, which is so much better than mine!

Lounge and kitchen of the new flat

After a short time emptying the bags, I left for another trip to Florin Court while Mirinda went shopping for essentials like sheets and food.

I walked across to the station at Canary Wharf to discover that the Jubilee Line was closed for maintenance. No problem, I figured. I’ll take the Dockland Light Railway to Bank then change for the Circle Line. This started well enough – a minute wait for the DLR train then an uneventful, though crowded, trip to Bank.

The thing with Bank station is that it involves a lot of walking. From one end to the other is about two miles through tunnels, up and down stairs and generally fighting people coming from both directions. I eventually arrived at the Circle Line platform to find out that the Circle Line is closed for maintenance all day as well.

I stood crying for a bit then tried to work out a way to get to Barbican without the Circle Line. Eventually I decided to walk. Fortunately the two suitcases I had with me were empty and on wheels.

It took me about 15 minutes and I quickly packed the suitcases with as much as I could then hailed a second cab to take me back to the Isle of Dogs, arriving at about 3. Mirinda had been busy, buying some lunch and visiting the world’s biggest Waitrose for some sheets and pillowslips.

After unpacking and planning the final move (on Wednesday) we left for home. This took four hours. Mainly because the Jubilee Line was closed.

We decided to take the ferry – big mistake! For a few reasons. It was the first Saturday of the school holidays, it was a Saturday in London and the Circle and Jubilee Lines were shut.

We only had a wait of 10 minutes for the next ferry but it was late and then didn’t pick anyone up! Ages later we finally managed to be among the 47 people who were allowed to join the next one.

The thing with the ferry is, after the first bit, it creeps along at about 1 knot for the rest of the journey. This is normally a pleasant little ride but not when you’ve been moving flat all day.

After a very long time we arrived at Waterloo and realised we’d just missed the 7pm train and had to wait half an hour. Mirinda went hunting for food while I waited with the empty suitcases.

We eventually walked into the house at 9pm and were attacked by two excited puppies. What a day. Personally, I blame Boris Johnson.

Just to end on a bright note, here’s the view from Mirinda’s new balcony.

The view from the balcony

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I see that Nicktor has starting making comments on the blog. Interestingly, he doesn’t seem to be able to spell his own name! Fair enough, I guess, he didn’t make it up in the first place.

Tonight I am going to blog about three news stories I spotted in the Metro, the free London paper. Actually, it used to be the only free London paper but now there seems to be a lot more. Not that that matters. The Metro is available everywhere in the capital and is handy to read on the bus or to do the sudoku when lectures get dull.

Well, I was reading it on the number 4 bus this morning on a journey that took twice as long as it should have. There is repair work going on all over Waterloo Bridge (has been since last November and is set to continue till December this year!) and it’s reduced to two lanes – that’s one in either direction. Sometimes they also close the tunnel which goes from the end of Waterloo Bridge, under The Strand, which makes the first part of journey a commuting hell. But I don’t want to blog about that!

So…I was reading the Metro and three stories struck me. I decided then that I should blog about them.

Swallows
I heard about this on the radio, almost a month ago, before reading it in the paper this morning. A flock of 76 swallows flew straight into the ground in Somerset. They tried to fly through someone’s concrete driveway. Apparently it was an awful sight. I heard a vet interviewed who was upset at being so powerless. He couldn’t understand what had happened or why. A witness described it as if they were just flying through the air.

Swallows fly in big swarms and make all sorts of beautiful shapes in the sky around dusk. Scientists believe they do this to appear a much bigger threat when they are threatened by predators. Generally they will fly into reed beds to escape. Apparently the driveway is the same colour as a reed bed, a vet said.

Granny
I hate it when a sensationalist newspaper prints a story that says one thing but decides a headline saying the opposite is more appropriate. This is one of the (many) reasons I refuse to read the Daily Mail or the Express! It doesn’t usually happen in the Metro but today it did.

The headline went something like “Granny fined and tagged for selling goldfish!” In fact, if you go to Google and put in ‘granny goldfish’, you’ll find this story everywhere doing exactly the same thing as the irresponsible journalist did in the Metro.

The story goes that this granny (I think she was 77) worked in her daughter’s pet shop. She sold a child a goldfish. This is against the law. She was fined £1000 and electronically tagged. She had a curfew imposed on her, meaning she wouldn’t be able to babysit her grandchild. The family called it legal lunacy and this is how the newspapers have pushed the story. It’s hard not agree, and most people would be so incensed by this, I doubt they’d read the final paragraphs.

It is in the final paragraphs that we discover how the family has been warned previously about animal cruelty, particularly about a cockatiel in the shop window, and have been told by the RSPCA they need to smarten themselves up or be closed down. On other ocassions they have been caught selling animals to children without an accompanying adult. The final sentence in the Metro had a quote from an RSPCA officer saying “We do not take animal cruelty lightly!” Damn right, too.

Hole in the ground
This is a rather sad story. Nero had a palace in Rome. It was called the Golden Palace (Domus Aurea) and was amazingly amazing. It sat on top of the Palatine Hill, overlooking the Forum and the Colosseum and the Circus Maximus. It had a rotating dining room which moved by way of water courses and large rock spheres. It was adorned with magnificent murals and mosaics.

Within a decade of Nero’s death (AD68) the place had been stripped of most of its building materials, filled in and built over. They weren’t too keen on Nero. It was he who fiddled as Rome burned. After the fire, he built himself the palace and taxed Rome mercilously to pay for it. Not popular. Anyway, the palace remained buried for ages and then, in the 15th century, it was rediscovered after a chap fell into a hole.

It’s been raining in Rome recently and quite heavily it seems. Well, it has weakened the roof of the palace, which was bearing a lot of weight – two metres of soil – and it all collapsed. Into the vaulted ceilings. Horror! Archaeologists are frantic, the mayor of Rome is beside himself. And, last but not least, Dawn and I walked on top of the very spot when we visited Rome in 2008. Sad face.

British Summer Time started in the very early hours of Sunday morning. I never change all the clocks so there’s always a few that are either an hour fast or an hour slow at various times of the year. The cooker was set during BST after I installed it last year and I couldn’t be bothered working out how to change it. So I would always subtract an hour from it. Now, it’s correct again. What’s the bet I’ll still subtract an hour.

I have managed to embed the skylark into the blog. Click the link here and it SHOULD work. Let me know if it doesn’t.

Walking back home tonight, as the rain fell, I snapped the daffs. I shall try again when the day is a bit brighter but this should give a good idea.

Crocuses no more

I gave two presentations at uni today. I was quite pleased with them both. Oh, and I have put up some photos of our trip to London on Saturday. You can see them here.

Just before talking about St Katharine Docks, I’d like to share a quote. It comes from Paloma Faith, a singer who has a new album out at the moment (very good it is too). She was previously a magician’s assistant. She was asked in an interview what were the highs and lows of the job. The highs were to do with doves and not worth repeating but the low was “Sitting in the darkness, in a small box for half an hour with nothing but a rabbit for company.” It did make me chuckle. Anyway…

Prior to my mercy dash yesterday, I spent lunch time with Mirinda, wandering around St Katharine Docks. What an amazing place. Lots of big, expensive boats sitting, posing in the marina. Converted warehouses, houseboats, Starbucks in a rotunda, council estates…it has everything.

Here is a watercolour of what it used to look like…well, the painting dates from 1985 but is how it was supposed to have looked before the Germans ruined it:

Old tinted drawing of St Katharine Docks

It’s changed a bit but the water is in the same place. The buildings are still there, just tarted up a bit, and lots of accommodation has been added, along with speciality shops and eateries. If you want to see a bigger version of the picture, you can see it here.

The building about halfway up and to the right, is Ivory House, which is definitely still there. In fact, it’s in the photo below, the building to the extreme left. Also, Mirinda is sitting where that big old masted boat is in the painting:

Mirinda asking her iPhone where we were

The history is interesting. In the 12th century, St Katharine’s hospital was built on the site and it remained until around 1828 when the docks were built in its place. It was one of those grand Victorian schemes to boost production while over working the workers. And getting rich. It was rather short lived though. because of the depth of the marina and the lock that kept the water level down, big ships could never dock there so it was bypassed in favour of bigger and better docks.

And then, as usual in lots of parts of London, the Germans made a big mess of it during the war. It sat looking squalid, just used as a marina, for many years. Then the Greater London Council took over and created, what has been called “…a model example of successful urban redevelopment.” This was started in 1970.

The amazing thing is that it doesn’t LOOK 1970s at all! This is a good thing. People claim that the 70s was the decade that fashion forgot and in a lot of ways they are so right. but not when it comes to St Katharine Docks. A wonderful place.

Anyway, the reason we were there was because we are seriously considering buying Mirinda’s flat here – the studio she’s in at the moment is not for sale at quite the right price – but we wanted to check it out first. So we met for our usual Wednesday lunch.

After mincing down Mincing Lane we followed the Great Tower Road, passed the Hung, Drawn and Quartered pub and into the tourist melee that is the Tower of London. St Katharine Docks is just the other side of the Tower. A very short but gorgeous walk to work for Mirinda.

We spent a good hour wandering around, pleased with the location, the environment, everything, really. And then headed back where I bade her farewell and took the train back home. This is really an excellent way to see London.

I just thought I’d include this photo as well as it sort of sums up London, really. Though I always think of Jerry on The Good Life, struggling to work across it every morning, from Surbiton.

Tower Bridge from St Katharine Docks

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.

I’ve seen the building called The Gherkin (there’s someone else’s photo here) from afar many, many times but, until today, I had never been near it. I was to meet Mirinda there for lunch. Well, outside rather than in it. I wish I’d taken my camera – though it was a lousy day for pictures.

I was walking from uni so figured I’d just use it as a landmark and head in its general direction. I’m REALLY glad I remembered my A-Z. From the uni, all the way to St Mary Axe, there was no sign of it. Granted I walked through the Barbican and was generally under cover but I figured when I reached London Wall I’d catch a glimpse. But, no. And then I turned into St Mary Axe.

I wandered what St Mary Axe means too. Apparently it was the name of the medieval parish. The parish church was called St Mary’s and opposite it was a pub, the sign of which was a big axe. And that’s it. No street, road, alley, or anything like that. Just St Mary Axe. And like most things London, the church and the pub have long since disappeared.

Anyway…The gherkin is amazing! That first sight of it is close to perfection. Being so close, it’s difficult to see it all at once, but not so much you don’t appreciate the size and shape. It is cocooned in black and white metallic webbing-like diagonal stripes. Mirinda tells me that when the trees are in leaf, the green is reflected from the windows in a marvellous fashion.

Lunch was lovely – we ate at Eat – and then we walked back to the flat where I left her to make the looooong journey home to two frantic poodles. My class on Wednesday finishes at 12:50 so we’re going to try and make this a weekly lunch date. Next week I’ll remember my camera.

I was lucky enough to be walking the poodles in the park as the sun came up this morning. Ok, that’s at 7:50 this time of year but it looked fantastic. Streaky red light breaking through dark snow clouds. And very cold. The first clouds we’ve seen for days. All year, in fact. The forecast is for heavy snow tonight.

I had an unscheduled trip into London today due to the fact that Mirinda forgot her mobile phone yesterday. She was working from the flat so we decided to have lunch together. I popped into Woking on the way for some new jeans and shoes. Given the way I shop, this took about half an hour, all up. And included a coffee at Starbucks. It’s odd having to remember my order – they just know what I have in Farnham.

On the train from Woking to Waterloo, groups of people with suitcases were joyously watching out the window as the London Eye appeared in the distance. They were all so excited, I realised it is important not to get to blasè about how lovely the capitol can look. You should enjoy it through another’s eyes on occasion, just to remember. It brings a childish joy so often missed.

The city looked lovely from my empty bus though crowded and the 20 minute trip seemed to take forever. Particularly around St Paul’s with the hordes of photo snapping tourists lining the footpaths and straying onto the road. I arrived at the flat dead on the scheduled time, courtesy of London transport.

We had lunch in the Fox and Anchor, a lovely pub not far from the flat. I recommend the Adnam’s they served for a croaky throat. It was rather thick and porter-ish with a lovely syrupy consistency. I could almost speak again. I can also vouch for the Cumberland sausage and mash, which was delicious. In fact, sitting here many hours later, I am still full of them and in no need of any further food.

After lunch we had a lovely walk around the Barbican. Mirinda has to work at the Business School once a week and it’s much nicer roaming the overhead walkways than going along the streets. It’s a maze of them! It’s quite an amazing place. Sort of like a little city inside a bigger one. A matreshka city!

We checked out the remains of the medieval city wall and the Roman one. We looked at the ruins of a church and wandered some more. The Barbican houses around 4,000 people! It has green spaces, fountains, shops, a theatre complex, the Museum of London…it’s incredible. It was built over 40 acres of land which was flattened during WWII. The Queen opened it in 1982.

Having found our way around the place (to a certain extent) we wandered back to the flat where I bid my wife goodbye and set off for home. I quite fancied this photo out of the bus window on the way back to Waterloo.

From inside a moving London bus - route 4

All day there has been dire warnings of a heavy snowfall throughout the south east sometime this evening and so I was eager to avoid it before getting home. And I was. Very lucky. At 6pm it started. I was sitting in the study working on an essay and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something out of the window (it was dark outside) and then something else. They were snowflakes. By 7:30 we had over 2″ of snow in our back garden. The poodles loved it. It eased off a bit so we popped outside so they could frolic in it…as they do! It is now 8.30 and it is falling again. I know a lot of people hate it and are bemoaning the traffic conditions but I think it’s fantastic.