On the Beat

On Thursday, the tube I was on stopped at Oxford Circus, and I noticed that the walls of the tunnel were being stripped of layers of posters and cleaned.

Yesterday I went back and got off the tube to have a better look. It felt like I was an archaeologist, looking down through the layers to different ages.

It also looked like abstract paintings – particularly those by Clyfford Still: jagged lightning cutting across the walls.

I took a lot of pictures; here are some of them.

(Also, when I got back from Oxford Circus and was sitting comfortably at my laptop, looking through my friends page, I saw this post by the rather wonderful tubewhore, who had exactly the same idea, although she was at Leicester Square; perhaps they are scraping the posters away throughout the West End.)

( more pictures beneath the cut )

I've just booked a flight.

I wanted to use points on my (in)frequent flyer card. I have many thousands of points on both BA and BMi cards.

I checked what the normal price was for my flight, and then I thought I'd see what it cost in points.

The free flight using points cost more in taxes and surcharges - that's in real £s, not points - than the ordinary flight.

So my points are more or less worthless. This makes good sense from the airlines point of view, obviously. But it pisses me off greatly!

I am travelling south this weekend: a long weekend in Oxford, seeing my mother (who I haven’t seen since August) and catching up with friends.

I thought about flying, but I prefer the train, so that was my first choice.

The cheapest way to Oxford was, believe it or not, via London – GNER down the east coast line, and then to Oxford via Paddington. Since I love this route, that was fine, though it will take a while – six and a half hours or so. (But I reckon flying would take four or five hours, door to door; and I can feel green and virtuous. Until my train is cancelled…)

The journey back is even more bizarre. The cheapest ticket by a long way is first class on a direct Virgin train, up the west coast route. (Don’t ask me why this option wasn’t available on the way down, but it wasn’t.) So I shall have a spacious seat and travel back in some style. And I rather like the idea of doing a circular trip.

And all cheaper and more comfortable and far less stressful than flying.

Trains, Planes Trains and Automobiles Trains:
( Travelling to York, and some of the things I did there... )

Twice in the past few weeks I have needed to hire a car; I used the same firm both times – the first because it worked out cheapest when I was looking around, the second because I was too lazy to look anywhere else.

The first time I booked a petrol-engined car the size of a Focus or Astra; what I got (when I turned down the automatic turbo SAAB they tried to get me to drive) was a four-wheel drive diesel-engined tank. It was huge, sat high in the road and although it handled well, it was a real pain to park. I had never driven a diesel before, so I lived in fear of filling it with petrol by mistake.

The second time I was going away by myself, so I just wanted a small car. I ordered something the size of Corsa; what I got (after I turned the automatic they tried to get me to drive) was a Ka. It was small. It went ok, but it felt small. (Probably because it was.) It also had a cassette player rather than CD, which I found very strange; I had to dig out some old CDs (which meant I was listening to old bootlegs of Elvis Costello and Oasis; fun, but not what I was expecting!).

After both hires, they asked me how satisfied I was with their service. So I said the cars were fine, but I was disappointed because on neither occasion did I get the car I was expecting. I also expressed surprise at them trying to fob me off with an automatic both times.

And both times they gave me a discount voucher – once for an upgrade, once for 15%.

As a result of this, I think I shall try and find something wrong whenever I rent a car from them!

Yesterday, as I walked to the bus stop, a bus was coming along the road. I ran to catch it.

There are two buses that I can get to work. For the technically minded, they are the X12 and the X48. The X48 is the magic bus: it has few stops, and cruises through the traffic. The X12 has a lot more stops.

They are different colours, these buses. The X48 is a green striped design, the X12 a standard red and white LRT bus.

Thing is, where I hit the main road, there is a stop for the X12. A little further on, maybe 250 metres, there is a stop where both stop.

So as I ran across the road, seeing the bus approaching, I glanced as I started to run. It was red and white – X12 – so it would stop.

I beat it to the stop – just – and it stopped. I looked at the sign and it said X48. The doors opened, and I stepped on – a bit surprised, since this bus wasn’t meant to stop.

“Pound, please.”*

“I don’t stop here,” said the driver, “I only stopped to tell you I don’t stop here.”

“But you have stopped here. I thought you were the X12.”

“You can’t come on. I don’t stop here.”

“But you did stop here. And I am on. So can I just pay my fare?”

“Where are you going?”

“Does it matter? It is all one pound.”

“But where are you going?”

(I look down the bus to see my glaring colleagues, wondering why they have stopped here, and why I am in deep discussion with the driver.)

She let me on. I paid my fare. But for fuck’s sake!


* Every journey costs one pound. It is a flat fare.

It is the cycling season. I cycle to work when I can – weather depending. Two or three times a week.

I got on my bike last Friday and found out that I had a flat tyre.

Bugger.

So on Sunday, I stripped the tyre off the wheel, fixed the inner tube, and pumped it up to make sure that I had actually fixed it.

Yesterday morning, all prepared to cycle in, I went to put the wheel back on the bike, and the brakes locked: the wheel wouldn’t spin.

I had to get changed out of my tee shirt, put on a suit, and walk to get the bus. Nice walk, though.

(This morning, it took maybe thirty seconds to get the wheel right. No idea why I couldn’t do it yesterday.)