The House Husband

This morning, I decided to put a load of washing on before I went shopping. I filled the basket up from the bedroom with a black load and was about to put it in the machine when I realised I’d forgotten something. I put the basket down and went back upstairs to retrieve my trackies. Upon my return, greeting me with a mischievous grin was Carmen, all curled up and snugly in the basket, soaking in the human smells.

But I like it here!

I can’t remember her ever doing this before (although, Day-z can often be found curled up in a pile of dirty washing if it’s left in a pile on the floor) and wonder if she’s somehow telling me not to wash our clothes because she prefers them smelly.

I asked her if she wanted to get out now but her only reply was to lay her head down and feign sleep. She moved pretty quickly when I picked the basket up and leapt out looking a bit upset.

I suddenly realise that I haven’t mentioned Dawn’s marmalade. She posted a blip the other day and, in her comment, mentioned she’d been making some. She’s not exactly what you’d call a country kitchen, Kirstie Allsop, WI, jam making type so it came as a bit of a surprise. My comment in reply was that I hoped I’d get to taste it.

On Thursday she handed me a jar with the warning that it was too thick. I told her it was probably in her imagination because it looked fine. I can confirm that she’s mad. Thick? It was perfect! Not too sweet, nice and orange-y, tangy in the right way, perfectly spreadable. I’m not a big marmalade (or jam for that matter) fan but it sure tasted good on my toast.

I think she should add a secret ingredient and call it Dawn-alade.

Ignoring the dire weather warnings from the BBC (we have been on an amber alert since last night; not that I know what that means after all, on the roads it means make sure there’s no pedestrians and proceed as if green) I caught the train into town to visit with the patient at the quarantine hut. It was very clear first thing this morning, looking like anything but snow but as I left home, the clouds, with big bulbous bits of grey had appeared.

The trip across town was, remarkably effortless. Generally, the Jubilee Line is not my friend on weekends but it was running a good service today and I hopped on a tube train almost immediately. Strangely, I can’t say the same for Starbucks. Very unusually, they took an age to get the coffees out. It could have been because one of the staff was a trainee.

At the flat I was very glad to see a much improved Mirinda. She claims it’s a combination of a vast collection of drugs, not leaving the flat for four days and the absence of stairs. Unlike home, if she wants to move from bedroom to lounge, it’s just through a door. At home she’d have to climb up and down the stairs.
Whatever the cause, she is a lot better and should reach her goal of returning to work on Monday. Of course, the other reason for her improvement could be the ingesting of ice cream and cup cakes, a universal cure if ever I heard one.

While I visited, we watched a wonderful film called The Chorus. Susanne recommended it to Mirinda years ago and we’ve only just got around to watching it. It’s a lovely French film that we thoroughly recommend to anyone who loves a story about ordinary people making a difference against the odds. It is beautiful. The music and singing is haunting. And the acting is superb. How they manage to get such brilliant performances out of little kids, I’ll never know. I always remember the youngsters Mirinda tried to teach in the mountains. They hid any talent for performance well away from any public scrutiny.

It was nominated for the Best Foreign Language film at the Oscars and I’m amazed it didn’t win. The one that did was a Spanish film called The Sea Inside which I’ve never heard of. It’s the true story of a guy fighting for 30 years in favour of euthanasia and his own right to die. Doesn’t sound very entertaining if you ask me. I prefer The Chorus.

Anyway, all good things must come to an end, even visiting hours, so I was all too soon on my way back home. The weather had turned even colder. Mirinda stepped out on the (steel) balcony in her bare feet and instantly regretted it. Fortunately I wore my big Russian great coat so was snugly and warm.

Coming out of the Jubilee Line at Waterloo, I walked by the big entrance and it was snowing. Very lightly and without much effort, but it could have been a portent. A big electronic sign in the main station proclaimed that all was well but if the weather was to deteriorate, things could get bad. That’s like saying, if you stand under running water, you’ll get wet! A stupid sign if ever I saw one. I texted Mirinda to let her know and missed a wonderful cultural reference she made.

As is normal in England, the train was very toasty. What’s not normal is that it was announced 20 minutes before it was due to leave so I didn’t have to stand around on the breezy concourse for very long.

During the trip home, Mirinda sent me a text to say the snow had started at Canary Wharf. By the time I reached Farnham, the snow was starting to settle. I knew I’d timed it right. Any later and I think this post may have had a different ending.

Walking across the railway crossing was a slippery affair so I decided to get a taxi home. This turned out to be a very good idea as our street was covered in snow, forcing the taxi driver to slow right down. I almost slipped over just walking across our drive. It would have been an awful walk home.

Of course the poodles were outside and covered in snow.

Our street, just before I went to bed

BBC Breakfast was broadcast from the main Olympic site this morning. A lot of it was inside the aquatic centre, which looks wonderful. The reason? It’s exactly one year before the opening ceremony in 2012.

Tom Daly (Olympic diver) is going to be the first person to dive off the high board. This is such big news that the BBC will be going live so we don’t miss it.

There’s a lot of argy bargy going on about the transport links coping with the Olympics. Dedicated lanes are being disputed, there has been worries about the tube and buses coping, and so it goes. However, I maintain that it couldn’t get much worse than it already is.

This morning (before the dawn chorus) I hopped on the 05:56 train to Waterloo to get to the flat. I know I generally have a go at South West Trains but this, being the first train of the day, was an excellent trip.

A highpoint was the fact that the guard doesn’t constantly rattle on with over-loud announcements about short platforms, his/her location and what to do if confronted by a turnip. In fact, when he came through the train to check tickets, he entered our carriage and almost whispered “Good morning, folks” and then inspected the proffered tickets. Given that the majority of passengers were asleep, this was amazingly considerate.

Even more incredible is the amount of sad faced, sleepy businessmen that catch this early train. One expects tradesmen and railway workers but, as Mirinda says, clearly there’s a lot of people paying private school fees, forced to work very long hours to make ends meet!

At Waterloo I went down to the Jubilee line and ran head long into a giant queue. Apparently engineering work ran over time and there were delays. I wonder how this will be avoided during the Olympics? I ask this because the Jubilee line goes to Stratford, where Olympic Park lives.

After a wait of about 10 minutes, a crowded train pulled in and the queue moved forward as people squeezed onto the train. Then the doors closed and it pulled out of the station. I was still in the queue, surrounded by annoying people with their noisy earplugs, playing a ghastly variety of tinny music.

I managed to squeeze into the next train, one minute later. And I arrived at the flat at 7:30, hoping that Parcelforce hadn’t tried to deliver in the previous half hour. I had no way of knowing whether they had so was just hopeful.

My first job was to fix wheels to the coffee table. This took about five minutes, although it’s not quite finished as I need to buy some filler. I’ll finish this off next week.

My second job was to clean the windows. Having a balcony makes it easy enough for the sliding glass door in the lounge but the bedroom is another matter. Mirinda assured me the window would spin around, top to bottom. It took me a while to work out how to do it but once I did, it just turned completely. Amazing technology, though I did feel a bit wary about the window just falling out of the frame.

In all, cleaning the windows took about half an hour. There was no third job so I just watched rubbish TV, wrote my blog, played around with my new camera and waited for the delivery.

I think I’ve said before that Mirinda keeps her Phoenix hat on top of the TV and it makes everyone look like they’re wearing it. Well here’s Claire Balding wearing it:

Claire Balding at the new Olympic Aquatic Centre wearing Mirinda's cowboy hat

I have to say there’s some rubbish on TV during the day. I was lucky that the parcel arrived at 2:30pm.

Half an hour later I was out of the flat and on my way home. An hour later I was standing on Waterloo concourse, bemoaning the fact that I’d missed the 3:30 by mere seconds. I may have made it if I’d not stopped off to get a photograph of the latest tall ship docked near the Turkish restaurant.

The Tenacious docked at Canary Wharf

I also stopped briefly at the entrance to the Jubilee line because I liked the slope of the roof and, because I had my camera with me, it seemed silly not to snap away like a demented tourist. To be fair, I wasn’t the only one.

The very modern entrance to the Jubilee Line at Canary Wharf

At Waterloo, I bought a coffee and watched, amazed as a girl walked around in Goth boots that looked like they came straight off Dr Frankenstein’s monster’s feet. They were obviously rubber and had huge holes bored through them in order to make them usable. Or perhaps to act as permanent overflow outlets for when the wearer walks through rivers.

Finally the train arrived and, accompanied by many hundreds of others (including a woman in a Chihuahua print dress pushing a baby stroller with an actual Chihuahua in it) I boarded it eagerly. I was starting to flake a bit but managed to type up this post. I then flaked for the rest of the journey…until a woman hit me with her bag when she left the train at Aldershot. It was probably a good thing or I may have ended up back at Waterloo.

As I was at Waterloo today, I stopped off at the Cuneo statue to get a photograph of the mouse. It is peeking out from under a book called Sketches by Cuneo. There’s an awful lot of dust around it, I must say! Clearly the cleaning staff at Waterloo do not think it worth their trouble.

Cuneo's mouse

To answer mum’s question: The original painting of Waterloo is 10ft x 9ft and the image I used yesterday had been reduced so much, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be able to spot a tiny mouse. If I ever make it to the Railway Museum, I shall try and remember to look for it.

To answer Mirinda’s question: I haven’t been able to find out why he chose a mouse. He started including mice (sometimes cartoon-ish, sometimes realistic) from 1956 and people scour his works, looking for them. There was a cartoonist in Sydney (I think) who always included something in his drawings and people would spend ages trying to find it. It wasn’t a mouse.

The reason I was at Waterloo was because I’d offered to take a load of clothes up to the flat for Mirinda. She’d packed a load for Australia from the flat and they’d wound up at Farnham – I was merely re-adjusting things a bit.

This meant a few train journeys. In fact, I was amazed when I returned home that it had taken me almost six hours! It was all very straightforward – for a change the Jubilee Line was running (at least the part I wanted was) – and my connections were pretty good. I do need to include hoovering time in there as well and statue photography but even so…it seems a bit excessive.

Not that I was missed at home. Mirinda had her first guitar lesson for ages this morning and then went down the gym for a wrestle with some weight machines.

One of the main things wrong with catching trains on the weekends is the weirdos who travel with you. Today, on the way back, in front of me was a strange Spanish looking chap in a cape and very pointy shoes. His hair had a strange brown streak through it, the majority being black. I doubt that I’d have noticed him except that he spent the entire trip on his phone, talking to five different people.

Sometimes this can be really annoying because you hear the same conversation each time but he didn’t do that. He was bored so I think he just rang the first five people in his phone. He spent a lot of time making small talk, to wile away the hour to Farnham. And not just local, either. He spoke to one person who was clearly in a different time zone because he went on and on and on and on about them already being drunk and it was only 8am.

Another caller was roundly berated for eating nothing but chocolate: “Oh, but you are very naughty, baby. Chocolate? That is bad, baby. But let’s stop talking of chocolate, baby.”

The third person he called was his sister to wish her happy birthday. I know this because the second caller reminded him it was his sister’s birthday.

All of this is perhaps just annoying however, what really got up my goat was his insistence in mispronouncing baby! He said it in a very odd way. Think the two words ‘bear’ and ‘bee’ and run them together. That’s what it sounded like. And he used it at least once every sentence, sometimes oftener. It really, really grated on my nerves after a while (5 minutes) and I was forced to play with my new phone rather than read.

I guess the worst thing was that it was a quiet carriage.

But, rather than end this post in a negative way…here’s the statue of Cuneo from beneath:

Terence Tenison Cuneo at Waterloo Station, London

There’s a statue at Waterloo station, of an artist. His name is Cuneo and he sits above what used to be the Eurostar platforms and is now the stage for The Railway Children. He looks very eccentric with his cravat and paint palette. I’ve seen him thousands of times because he’s near Nero’s, where I get my coffee in the afternoon. Apart from this statue I knew nothing about him. That is until today.

He was an artist…clearly…whose full name was Terence Tenison Cuneo. He was born in 1907 and loved painting railway subjects. Trains, stations, goods yards, engineering works, bridges, everything to do with trains. One of his big paintings I researched today. It is of Waterloo Station in the mid 1960s. I’ve included a small image of it although the actual painting is very big!

Waterloo Station in 1967 by Cuneo

Waterloo is certainly a bit different today! If you tried to drive under the clock, you’d topple many people over before you. Then you’d wind up on platform 13 or 14. You can see where the cars went because the entrance/exit to the taxi rank is still there and has a big arched opening that could easily be two lanes.

It looks a bit busy but it’s nothing on how Waterloo Station is at peak hour these days. Wild and manic is how I’d describe it. Actually, not so much wild and manic as heaving and jam packed. In fact, it’s horrid. I much prefer Cuneo’s version to todays.

Something that Cuneo always did, and which I think is kind of cute, was put a mouse somewhere in his pictures. He is known for it. There’s even one on the statue of him at Waterloo. It’s peeking out from under the book. Very cute.

The painting was in storage for quite a while but was then hung at the Railway Museum in York. I’ll have to check it out next time I’m up there.

I also read about Sir William Henry Preece today. He was an electrical engineer who, among other things didn’t think the telephone was much good. After working on them, he told a parliamentary inquiry in 1879 that he foresaw little demand for them in Britain, saying the telegraph and a ‘superabundance of messengers, errand boys and things of that kind’ already met the need. What a clever chap he was.

A first today. Every Monday and Friday when there’s no strike on the underground, I take two tube trains. From Waterloo to Embankment (1 stop) and Embankment to South Kensington (5 stops). It takes me around 20 minutes which includes the walking between lines as well. I am so used to it, I even know where to stand in order to be by a door when the train stops. Though this didn’t help me today!

I was standing at Waterloo, waiting for the Northern Line train, reading Ancient Rome by Simon Baker as I finished Garp last night, figuring I must have just missed a train because there were so few people around. I nonchalantly glanced at the indicator but my eyes bounced back instantly. It said 3 minutes! The next train would be in 3 minutes!! My God! What was this? I rarely wait longer than a minute. And now 3?

I was not impressed with this. I read and frowned as the platform filled up with eager commuters. All of us stood obediently behind the yellow line as the woman on the platform kept telling us through her portable microphone announcing thingy. I felt the forward rush of air through the tunnel as the train approached. It’s always amazing how windy it gets but never very cool. Anyway, the train burst into the platform.

As the carriages slowed down and I could see the windows, I was aware of the squashed flesh against the glass, faces flattened, feet in unnatural locations. Oh, the humanity! It was awful. Had something awful happened between Kennington and Waterloo? Some sort of terrorist outrage? Had someone butchered an entire train and left the bodies in all manner of strange positions?

The train stopped and I was surprised at the lack of screams as the doors opened.

“Please let the passengers off the train before you board!” said the woman into her microphone thingy, just like she does every day.

No-one actually got off…and no-one actually boarded. It was very, very full. I’m surprised the doors closed again. I’m also surprised the little engine could haul that much humanity. But haul it did, leaving a platform full of passengers aghast and annoyed. Actually, more annoyed than aghast. I think I was the only one who was aghast; having never seen this before outside of those videos they show of the guys in Tokyo using big sticks to push people onto the trains.

I really hoped I’d not have to wait another 3 minutes. I braved a look back at the indicator board, this time having to dodge around heads. And then I felt the oncoming wind of the next train. Bargain! Less than a minute. I watched as the virtually empty tube train slowed to a stop in front of me. It quickly filled up but I was on and not squashed. Ha!

Now, I’m sure this happens to people all the time (actually Barbara at work said that her train was a disaster this morning as it stopped at Warren Street station because of a signal problem but no-one could go anywhere because Warren Street station is closed because of a non-working escalator) but it has never happened to me…until today. It’s not the ideal way to start your day. But still.

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The Natural History Museum (which is sort of next door to the Science Museum – has removed the temporary butterfly house from outside. Where it once sat is now a sea of mud. I assume they are readying it for the ice rink.

Natural History Museum, London

So, today, Dawn and I attended a day course in forensic archaeology, ostensibly about Egyptian archaeology. I think I’ve been spoilt by university. The debates, the cut and thrust of opinion, agreeing and disagreeing with the lecturer. This wasn’t like that. Our lecturer (and I use the term loosely) was an ex-teacher of primary school children. And you could tell.

Her experience was excellent. Her slides were of actual Egyptian burials and her anecdotes were about digs in Egypt. All very interesting. The group of attendees was varied but generally not particularly scholarly. I’m sure they all had a lot more from the day than I did and, to be completely honest, I would have been just as happy had I not attended. I was tempted to not go back after lunch but Dawn was getting a lot more from it so I put up with the second half. Actually I struggled to stay awake because of the windows.

When we first arrived, I was amazed at how airy and cool the room was. Perfect for a lecture, I thought. Big windows around the ceiling were wide open and a lovely breeze ensured that the air was fresh. A good chance to stay awake, I thought. About five minutes into the talk and a fussy woman in front of us started coughing. The lecturer, full of motherly concern, asked the woman if she’d like some water.

This wasn’t the only interruption. The first hour was dotted with silly little technical problems which involved changing overhead projectors, shuffling the skeleton around and wrestling with a portable white screen. Had it not been a serious lecture, it would have been hilarious. Actually, it was hilarious without meaning to be.

The thing about this day course was that last time it ran it was oversubscribed and proved very popular. I’m not really sure why. But, anyway, the organisers decided it was so popular they would run it again. And that’s the one we were on.

Anyway, the coughing woman replied to the offer of water with the comment that it was because the windows were open. There was then a mad rush to shut them all. This more or less guaranteed I’d be asleep in the afternoon. Clearly the woman was allergic to air. I purposely had a minor coughing fit about half an hour later, waiting to be asked if I was ok, so I could say I needed the windows open. Sadly, she didn’t care about my well being and I remain unasked.

Lunch was great. We wandered down to a pub that, while it served 6X, did not do food on a Saturday and ended up at the next corner in an Italian place which did an excellent Fiorentina pizza and Peroni. So far, this was the highlight of the day.

It was also Ladies Day at Ascot today. So arriving at Waterloo was like Friday night rush hour except everyone was dressed to the nines. It was ridiculously crowded and strange at the same time.

The afternoon at the lecture was pretty dire. We had a big quiz thing where we had to look at a very large collection of objects and write about them. At the end of the day we were asked what we thought of each of them. This sounds like it should have been quite interesting but it was bit ‘Show and Tell’ if you ask me.

When it finished, I was quite glad to get out. The tutting of the self confessed vegan sitting in front of us, activated whenever I whispered to Dawn (not often and only where relevant) helped. We went to the pub that served 6X and had a grand time drinking and chatting about the stupid lecture, the Weasels, Nicktor and trying to remember the name of the woman who measured the bones of the Korean War dead for her PHd. We didn’t and it was Trotter.

We sat on a lovely high padded backed bench which, like a bench in a church yard, had a dedication plaque on it to a chap who used to like to drink in the pub. A lovely spot. After a while we realised it was getting pretty late so we wandered to the bus stop and left for Waterloo and home.

Though, somehow, we ended up sitting on a train for about half an hour, thinking it was leaving for Portsmouth Harbour in five minutes. It turned out to be going to Weymouth. Fortunately we found out before it left and switched trains.

To sum the day up, the company was delightful, the lecture was a bit dull. And here’s a photo of Dawn drinking a pint and a half of 6X.

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.