A wheelie good day

Mirinda had book group today so I took the opportunity to go up to the flat to (finally) get the wheels sorted for the coffee table. There was also the urgent issue of the DVD player needing replacing. Her old one (which wasn’t that old but was very cheap) decided to give up the ghost last week and, given the sorry state of ‘live’ television and her need to watch what she wants when she wants it, we had to replace it ASAP. So, yesterday I bought a new one and today I took it to the flat and plugged it in.

The train trip in was uneventfully pleasant – given I had no time restraints, I caught the wonderful 9am 444 which meant I had a table and non-crowded with commuters journey. As we pulled into Waterloo, I checked my London Underground app for the latest tales of woe on the Tube but was very pleased to note that all lines were showing a good service. It’s interesting that the best service is a good one rather than excellent. I guess they never want to boast.

I took myself down to the depths of the Jubilee Line and caught a train almost immediately. It was pleasantly devoid of the usual hordes. I sat back and read some more about the origins of the English language.

I became a bit concerned when the train remained at Southwark for much longer than required. The doors were open and the train was doing nothing. Eventually a platform announcement filtered in declaring that the Jubilee Line was not running at Southwark station. My ears, as well as those others not clogged up with earplugs and headphones, pricked up.

We then had a fairly unintelligible announcement from our driver. I heard this announcement many times over the next 40 minutes and it seemed to say that we were being delayed because a passenger had been on a train at Finchley, causing delays out of London Bridge. This made no sense as one would assume that passengers on trains were more the norm than reasons for delays.

A few of my fellow passengers left the train in disgust. I was on the verge of following them when a new announcement came that the doors were closing and we were about to leave. As the train started pulling out of Southwark, the looks on the faces of the people who had abandoned it showed their disgust had only increased.

We then had a long, stop and start journey to Canary Wharf. A trip that normally (whatever that means) takes 20 minutes was increased two fold (or 200% as Nicktor would undoubtedly claim). At least the train wasn’t in the least bit crowded. I just read. The comatose chap opposite me simply listened to some tinny rubbish living on his phone.

Finally at Canary Wharf, I discovered the reason we were delayed was because someone had been under a train at Finchley rather than on one, which I have to admit is more probable cause for disruption. I’m pretty sure my train was one of the few that managed to get through and I thanked the devilish sprites that haunt the Tube network for sparing me an even worse experience. Clearly it wasn’t my turn this time.

All my bits and pieces ready and waiting

I dumped everything at the flat then headed back out to do Mirinda’s food shopping at Waitrose where the check-out lady took great delight in reading my badges. When she read (out loud) the one that says “Say yes to vodka” she let out a delighted cheer and held up her hand for a high five. I happily obliged, saying “Every time”. Even though my days of neat vodka are well behind me and I’d be more likely to say “no” I didn’t want to disappoint her.

On the way back to the flat I, stupidly as it turned out, stopped at Starbucks for a coffee. The Canary Wharf branch has a new worker. A young guy with very little skill. All he had to do was to take the orders and write them on the cups. He was so incompetent that the barista checked and redid every one. This meant every order took twice as long as it should. Which meant I was there far longer than I should have been. The guy who made my coffee took pity on me and gave me a voucher for a free coffee. Which I’ll never use.

These free coffee vouchers are pointless for me. They entitle the holder to a free tall coffee, which is the standard small drink. Given I drink a grande, triple shot, hazelnut latte, makes them pointless. Nero does the same with their loyalty cards. I have a growing collection of free drinks which I regularly give to the poor.

Eventually, coffee in hand, I returned to the flat and set about putting the wheels on the coffee table. I organised my tools and the replacement bolts then removed the axles and overlong bolts that came with them. All was looking good. I marked out the, now upside down, table and retrieved my cordless drill. I started drilling. After about four revolutions, the drill stopped. The battery was flat.

Rather than throw the drill off the balcony in indignant frustration, I immediately raced down to Robert Dyas and bought a new one. Of course, this had to be charged so, while I waited for the trickle to become a torrent of energy, I had lunch. I then set up the new DVD player, making sure it worked. I also set the set top box off, scanning for the new channels that had all disappeared with the advent of the death of the analogue signals in London. Eventually the battery was sufficiently charged.

A new battery, ideally, needs about six hours for the first charge but I figured with only four holes to drill, that I could get away with a lot less. The first two holes were fine but then I had to put the drill back on to charge for the final two.

Just one of four

Finally I had the coffee table rolling back and forth across the new carpet like a bulldog on a skateboard. It was a great moment. I paused for a moment to glory in the achievement and then cleaned up before packing my bag and leaving.

As usual, I’d wanted to do more but the energy problem forbade such luxury. I headed down to the ferry (not wanting to risk the disappointment that is the Jubilee Line) for a gorgeous trip back down the Thames to Waterloo and home.

A friendly ferry sign

Quite a successful day, really.