Hubris

We've got electricians in at home, and they start fairly early so this morning I left a few minutes earlier than usual, with a cunning plan to catch the Metropolitan train at 8:26 at Ruislip Manor rather than my usual at 8:32 (all times approximate of course).

The plan succeeded right up to the point that it failed. Lots of people on the platform looking disgruntled. Rain lashing down. The next Met came in at 8:34. Train crowded, steaming wet clothes. Minor delays due to a signal failure at far-away Barbican, apparently.

Nothing succeeds as planned - Joseph Heller (Good as Gold)

Flaming June

I have always assumed that "flaming June" was some sort of folkloric reference to the climate during this month, perhaps referring to the heat during the month that has the longest days and the dramatic effect of sunsets late into the evening. So I thought I would make some wry comments about the relatively dull weather we are currently enjoying, then thought to check on the provenance of the title phrase. Turns out that the only references are to a picture painted in 1895 by Frederic Lord Leighton depicting a woman swathed in orangey-red drapes, lolling about in the best pre-Raphaelite style. You can see it for yourself here on Wikipedia.
Hmmm...I don't really want to start blathering on about a bit of Victorian tat. But then again you probably don't want to read stuff about how dreary May has been (though the plentiful rain has done wonders for my garden), or compare the current temperatures in London (20) with Munich (33, I am reliably informed, last Friday). But it is interesting to recall that dreadful heatwave of 2003 and the rather ordinary summers we seem to have had since then. Back then it seemed like the precursor of worse times to come. Now it seems more like an aberration, though I have no doubt we will have increasing numbers of heatwaves in future.

So anyway, it is gently smouldering June for the time being, and let us hope that we do not get a repeat of the torrential rains of last summer. Or I shall be scrambling for even sillier epithets.

Groundhog day

On Feb 7 this year I wrote about how problems on the Jubilee Line, coinciding with a football match at Wembley, caused chaos on the Underground. Last night there was a football match at Wembley - and lo - signal problems at Willesden Green once more took out the Jubilee Line and there was serious overcrowding at Baker Street.

I dunno. Is this some vast social experiment to see how bad the tube has to be before we all revolt? Presumably somebody working for LU reads the papers and knows when the next match is on? They didn't even try to lay on extra trains on the Metropolitan - when I was standing at Baker Street in the crowds, all the trains were coming up from the City and platforms 1 and 4 were empty. Trains could have shuttled between Wembley Park and those platforms with ease. And how about the occasional train deliberately not stopping at Wembley so as to make it easier for regular commuters - you know, those of us who actually keep the service afloat - to get home?

As I observed last time, the football fans were amazingly well behaved. No raucous chanting, no drinking, no belligerence, just a friendly good-humoured and tolerant approach to the jammed trains. If this is an experiment, the results seem promising.

That Poe moment

Arriving this morning, as is my wont, at Waterloo underground station, my eye was drawn to a poster advertising what I presume is a “popular beat combo” or somesuch. In fact it was placed to be directly opposite the tunnel leading to the escalators so I had no choice but to observe it. Emblazoned across the top was the single word “Usher”, followed by “Here I stand” and then a picture of the performer in question.

Wrong, wrong wrong. If your name is Usher, and assuming you are not one of those morning-suited gentlemen who politely ask as you enter the church “Bride or groom”, then the correct name for your latest recording can only be “Here I (and indeed my House) Fall”. With the follow up being the snappily entitled “I buried my sister alive in the family vault and now I hear strange noises from below”.

A Gallic Interlude

To France, Rousillon to be more precise, for a week of medieval villages, lush rolling countryside and the gastronomic pleasures of “salad of gizzards”, walnut wine and pistachio ice-cream. An additional attraction was that we went there by Eurostar and TGV, but sadly the latter is not all it is cracked up to be. Coming home, it took 6 hours to go from Bordeaux to Lille, a distance of some 450 miles. Allowing for about an hour of station stops, this still means an average speed of 90mph, a long way short of what the TGV is all about. Worse was that there was no food or drink offered in first class (the only way to travel, my dear), neither a decent lunch (which we would have got on Eurostar) or even on a trolley service for cash (though they did bring round a trolley on our journey southbound, from Paris to Brive). And nothing to buy at Bordeaux station either, so it was just as well we had stocked up at a motorway service station en route. The only refreshment available was in a buffet car that closely resembled one of British Rail’s finest during the glorious 1970s. Sweets, crisps and cheese on toast – Croque Monsieur if you will – were the principal offerings. Couple this with the overflowing toilets and the stuffy air and it made for a disquieting trip, though the seats were extremely comfortable.

The last time we took the TGV, a few years ago, there was a strike and we had a highly unpleasant journey. Engineering works this time around forced our detour to Brive on the outward journey. And they’re about to go on strike again starting tomorrow. Passengers booked on Eurostar have been warned to cancel if possible rather than risk being stranded the other side of the Channel. Another uncanny resemblance to 1970s Britain. I suppose one day we may have a hassle free journey that combines British and French railways. But do not ask me when that day will dawn.