The House Husband

After yesterdays little episode on the train, Mirinda asked me to send a letter of complaint to those responsible. This is what I sent to National Express trains and to The Evening Standard – the London paper.

The Stansted Express

Along with me there were a number of tourists in the carriage, obviously just arrived from the airport. I wonder what they thought of your smouldering train service.

I have yet to receive a reply.

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.

This week is National Volunteers Week…apparently. To celebrate, the Science Museum and the Natural History Museum (NHM) put on a bit of a do for us. I went tonight and had a great time.

The do was in the new Darwin Discovery Centre at the NHM which sort of resembles a big egg inside an airport terminal. Inside the big egg is a big laboratory for scientists who want to dissect and work out stuff. As they do. It’s all very snazzy.

The Darwin Discovery Centre at the Natural History Museum

I chatted with a fellow volunteer who is from Brisbane and knows Caboolchure. She had her first orientation day at the NHM today and was all excited about scanning and entering information about small bugs (like lice) onto the database.

We then had a fantastic talk by Chris Stringer who I saw at the archaeology conference I went to with Dawn earlier in the year. It was the same talk, about Neanderthals, but was updated with all the new information regarding the genome sequencing of Neanderthal DNA. It was excellent!

But the highlight, the truly marvellous bit, was when he took out of a tissue lined box, a real Neanderthal skull and put it on the table in order to demonstrate certain features. And then, afterwards, everyone crowded round to take photographs of it. And I reached out and touched the brow ridge! It felt like rock. Mainly because it is rock. Still.

We then all went back to the booze and food for a bit. I excused myself from Francis and Nick (my boss who had joined us) and left. I wanted to get the 9pm train so I wouldn’t be home too late. Well, that was really, really stupid.

All was fine until the train suddenly stopped outside Wimbledon. And then the power went off (there were emergency lights). And then, after about 20 minutes, we had an announcement. We were being held there because a train had struck a passenger in Wimbledon station on the adjacent track to ours and all the power had been turned off so the police could do their CSI thing.

It was very frustrating to watch all the other trains go belting by as we just sat there. I almost finished my book. Other people finished books and hunted around for discarded newspapers. We were there for an hour and a quarter.

I finally walked into the house at 11:45 instead of 10:30. BASTARDS!

A real Neanderthal skull!

I really hate wearing shoes and socks. When I was at Telewest, I usually had no shoes on under my desk. Granted I kept the socks on but more often than not, I was shoeless.

Today, on the train into work (it still sounds weird having been off work for so long), as usual, I slipped my shoes off. It just feels more comfortable. I’m amazed more people don’t do it.

At work, after getting myself comfortable in the Dome of Silence, I slipped them off, feeling free and easy. Well, my toes did from inside my socks, anyway!

Ok, I don’t like feet, never have, never will. Of all the fetishes in the world, this one is the weirdest, if you ask me. No-one has sexy feet. They are just ugly. If you don’t believe me, watch Kill Bill 2, just for the scene with Uma Thurman, generally considered a pretty sexy woman, trying to make her legs work after coming out the coma. Now they are some ugly feet she has! Actually I’m amazed they didn’t use a foot double.

I concede, they do a job, and generally they do it well but that’s it. I’m not going to willingly take something that’s been carrying a human being around all day, having been wrapped in some airless space, into my hand and kiss it. Not going to happen.

BUT…and that’s a big but…I hate shoes. You’d think with my revulsion-bordering-on-phobia for feet that I want them covered up all the time. No. Not at all. Over and above everything else is comfort. I love comfort and I hate shoes and socks.

But enough of me talking about shoes and socks…It’s off to Bath.

My wheelie bag and I set off from the Science Museum after work, eager for the delights of Bath. Paddington Station is just the other side of Hyde Park, which is just down the end of Exhibition Road, where the Science Museum is. I figured it would be a nice leisurely stroll after work. Halfway to the station in the morning I realised I’d forgotten my A-Z. I walked in the opposite direction and caught the tube three stops.

Paddington is a typical London mainline station. A bit of Victorian, a bit of modern (glass and steel), lots of people milling, High Street shops and takeaways and train indicators that never seem to change very fast. My train left at 5.30. All the other trains had platforms except mine. 5.10 no platform; 5.20 no platform. I had a seat booked but it didn’t bode well for anyone who didn’t. 5.25 and, finally, a platform. A collective groan went up as everyone realised it was the platform furthest away.

A mass migration, resembling an edge of panic stampede of wildebeest, started moving towards the far reaches of the station. From the station concourse the mob turned left towards the platform, immediately funnelling the numbers into a squishy crowd trying to get through three automatic ticket machines. Of course, my ticket wouldn’t work so I had to back up, annoying a few people, and show it to the non-automatic station guy who let me through the barrier.

I found my carriage and thence my seat. Ah, comfort. I had intended to use my Netbook but it was too crowded. I had ordered a table seat but with all four seats taken, there really wasn’t room for a laptop, no matter how small. So, instead, I read.

The train gradually emptied so that about halfway through the journey I had enough room to stretch my legs and had a fairly comfortable trip.

Weir

We visited Bath for a weekend in 2005, and, although it was five years ago, after walking a few hundred yards from the station, I recognised everything and, without aid of map or need to ask guidance, I walked straight to the hotel. It helped that we’re staying in the same hotel, the wonderful Villa Magdala.

Mirinda had already arrived. The receptionist said she’d only beaten me by about two minutes but after hearing how much transpired between the two, I think it was probably an hour before me.

After a chance for my feet to relax after the stress of a day in shoes and socks, we strolled up to the Abbey then had dinner in Brasserie Gerard, one of which we have in Farnham. We had a lovely dinner then a short stroll then back to the hotel.

Oddly, we are in the exact same room as we were five years ago though, since this area has had their analogue signal switched off, the size of the TV has been reduced. I’m not sure why but we have the smallest flat screen TV I think I’ve ever seen. Not that it mattered. All I wanted was to sleep and all I did was sleep.

So I was enjoying a little afternoon snooze in front of my Netbook, pretending to absorb information about eBooks while Mirinda happily gazed at the words on her Sony eReader when I was suddenly whipped back into full consciousness. In the frenzy to remember what to pack from the flat for the trip to Bath tomorrow, she’d forgotten the power adapter for her laptop. It may have been a little amusing, watching her panic grow as she realised it was nowhere to be found in the house. My concern was that she had left it either in Dublin or on the train returning from Dublin. She assured me she hadn’t.

It was 3:20. We were due to go to the Spotted Cow for 7:30 for our anniversary dinner so I had to make tracks if I was to get to the flat and back in time. With all haste, I grabbed the essentials and was out of the door in five minutes. I would like to note at this stage that we both forgot our anniversary this year. As it was, Mirinda was in Dublin. It was Fiona who alerted Mirinda to the fact. Good job neither of us are particularly date focussed!

Anyway, back to the journey. The 3:58 train to Waterloo was strangely busy but I managed to get a modicum of work done on my hastily grabbed Netbook. I also managed to stay awake. No mean feat given the sleepy state of my brain.

Carmen has taken to waking me up by whacking me with her paw. This would be all well and good except she keeps doing it earlier and earlier. This is perhaps my own fault as I let the poodles sleep with me while Mirinda is in town. It’s actually very funny when they don’t wake up before the alarm. When it goes off they just go insane, wondering what it means. Such jolly fun!

The train, meanwhile, filled up by the time we arrived at Woking and I had a rather full trip into Waterloo but, strangely, it was quiet enough for me to work. It was a lot easier when the young Goth with the hair over her face stopped ripping lengths of stick tape off a roll. At least, I think that’s what she was doing. It sounded like she was but I couldn’t see her.

From the station, I made a hurried, dodging dash for the bus stop and almost immediately climbed aboard a number 4 bus. Things were going well. Even the diversion around St Paul’s wasn’t a problem. I arrived at the flat, ran in, grabbed the lead, which sat with all the élan of a panther in a tree, on the dining table amid the wreckage of DVDs and stuff I didn’t really look at, and was back on the street in about five minutes.

I stood at the bus stop, weighing up my options. I decided I would wait a maximum of ten minutes for a bus. If one hadn’t arrived by then, I’d grab a taxi. After about two minutes, I flagged down taxi. The driver managed to get me to Waterloo with enough time to buy a coffee at Nero’s before walking swiftly to platform 10 and boarding the 5:53 to Alton.

All was well in my safe little end of the carriage. A few people dotted around meant I could spread out over the two seats. My Netbook, my book, my coffee, all of it, comfy and handy. At the last minute, just before the train doors slammed guillotine-like shut, a sudden influx of puffing, running passengers meant I had to quickly gather all my bits together and share my space. All the way to Aldershot, I had to share my space!

Mirinda sent me a text to suggest she meet me at Farnham and we would drive straight to the Spotted Cow, alleviating the need for me to walk home. Sounded good to me.

And there she was. Actually waiting for me. We drove up to the Spotted Cow and had a lovely (and quite large) anniversary dinner before going home for an anniversary viewing of the latest Midsomer Murders, which was as hilarious as usual. Joyce really does make me laugh. And she was on fine form in this episode.

It is very difficult concentrating on a Philosophy for Digital Libraries with kids in the same carriage of the train. It doesn’t help that little kids seem to only speak at great volume for the simplest of things. The most annoying thing (ignoring babies that just cry and scream for the entire journey) is the kid that keeps asking the same question, over and over again.

“Look mum! A cow. Mum! Look! A cow! Mum! Look mum!…” and on and on. Each time the volume increases until ‘mum’ says something dismissive like “Oh yes, isn’t that nice” half an hour after the cow has disappeared. Surprisingly this kid today looked out the window and exclaimed “Look mum! A caterpillar! Mum! Look!” It did get her attention immediately. I assume he has the eyes of a hawk.

But it’s not something you get annoyed at. Unless the kids are actually misbehaving and sometimes not even then. There is a rule in civilisation that states that it is expected and therefore mandatory. Very different to the Victorian’s ideas! And I’m not advocating a return to such times. I think it’s important for kids to express themselves as they experience the world.

What I’m wanting is a train carriage where parents with children are not allowed. Like height restrictions on fairground rides, there should be a ‘sitting quietly and reading’ level that must be adhered to. And it should not be optional like the laughable quiet zones presently on trains. To show how this works, I’m in one now but sadly the parents and the kids cannot read the sign above their heads.

And so, instead of putting in a good hour of work on my essays, I am reduced to typing up the beginning of my blog entry for today. Of course, it does mean I can now get an extra 15 minutes of essay work when I get home, so I guess all things level out somewhat.

However, a lot of the disruption is to the impossible to retrieve flow. I had a lovely quiet four stations and was happily climbing into the writing zone when the carriage was invaded. I tried to concentrate on what I was doing but the sheer force and volume of the under 5 year old and the screeching of the baby slammed the brakes on my brain which simply shut down, losing the thread. Very annoying when I was hoping to get a substantial amount of work done during my two journeys today to see Mirinda for lunch.

They left the train at Clapham Junction which gave me 10 minutes before Waterloo. I decided to just do some reading.

I have become a bit bored with wearing a baseball cap and so I have changed my style somewhat. I am going for the ‘mislaid artist living happily in Tahiti’ look.

My new straw hat

So, I was back to uni today. I have four essays due so I figured I’d get a lot of work done on the train. This reminds me of a story in the press not long ago. A politician claimed he had to travel first class because he couldn’t work in second. He managed to make it sound like he was putting himself in some better class than the other passengers by saying they weren’t ‘the same’ as him. Bad choice of words, clearly but a more than accurate sentiment. I can but dream of first class.

Firstly, the new trains do not lend themselves to giving enough room to work properly. I’ve mentioned before that they’re modelled on a very thin, very short German midget as opposed to a normal sized human being. This makes it difficult to type, one arm being wedged against the side of the carriage or one leg extended into the aisle – neither helpful.

Actually, having a Netbook helps a bit. The keyboard being 97% the size of a full sized machine means I can just rest my wrists on the base and my fingers can reach all the keys. I am still squeezed up against the wall of the carriage though. Not the most ergonomic of typing positions.

I guess one of the worst things is the annoying habits of other people. They plug in their earplugs, have their music (or whatever) WAY too loud then can’t hear themselves eating with their mouths open. This simply sends me totally insane. And jiggling legs. I like the way some ‘expert’ has given this a name, as if it legitimises it somehow. Restless Leg Syndrome. It’s a SYNDROME? No it’s not! It’s a HABIT! Personally, I just think it’s because they desperately want to annoy me. It’s times like this I’m glad I have a laptop so I can freely vent the vitriol which otherwise threatens to engulf me.

Do they not care about anyone else? Are they so egocentric they only have brains attuned to themselves? Whenever I listen to my iPod, I always check the amount of bleed from the earplugs because I don’t want to annoy anyone. Is this just me? I must admit, I also do it so I can still hear what’s going on around me. I live in fear of missing an emergency flood announcement because Frank Zappa is screeching in my head.

I know the train is so crowded that people want to surround themselves with their own little happy bubble of aloneness, but just a smidge of consideration for others would be nice. Just like the people in cars who think everyone wants to listen to the constant drivel they call music which might be ok except all you can hear is thwump, thwump, thwump. OK, I know it’s never going to happen but it’s nice to moan about it. After all, what else is a blog for?

It was clear I wasn’t going to get a lot of work done, so I wrote this entry instead. I hoped he’d read it as I typed but, sadly, he didn’t. I also hoped to catch a glimspe of his email address (he had his laptop opened in front of him) so I could send him a rude email but I couldn’t make it out.

And while I’m moaning about people without social skills…I’m also not keen on the people who have to yell into their phones. Surely there’s been enough comedy skits showing how ridiculous it is. Sometimes I feel like joining in the conversation, just for a laugh but fear they have little (or no) sense of humour. Actually, when I think about it, if they don’t get the comedy skits, they are not going to get anything. Probably a good idea NOT to join in, then.

Well, that managed to take me from Clapham Junction to Aldershot, and I felt a little bit better. Not that I managed much uni work, but it did deter me slightly from the slurping next to me.