That muted feeling

Halloween last weekend, an event I have deplored in previous utterances on this site, but this year almost invisible. Ghastly rubbish in the supermarkets (what does happen to all those oversized pumpkins?) but nothing to be seen on the streets. Of course, being out that night helped. As it happens we were in Sevenoaks for a concert and wandering through the attractive but distinctly quiet town centre I noticed a jeweller had placed a few 'orrible 'airy spiders here and there amongst the rings and the watches. Can't say that this seemed much of an inducement to spend money there.

And tonight is bonfire night. There used to be plenty of fireworks going off for several nights before November 5 came around - again I am surprised by the paucity of it this year. Perhaps everyone is saving up for the weekend. Or maybe people are having second thoughts about celebrating the downfall of a man who tried to blow up Parliament. One more expenses scandal and it will be the Speaker being burned in effigy whilst the deluded (because the plot was doomed to fail even if the powder had gone off as planned, and the resulting war against the English Catholics would have caused the needless deaths of thousands of innocent people) Mr Fawkes becomes a sort of whistle-blowing martyr of the people.

Falling leaves

Don't be misled by the title of this piece. Usually at this time the Met comes to a halt with the age-old excuse of "leaves on the line". Autumn is in full swing and the leaves were falling freely in beautiful Ruislip all weekend but no delays appear to have interfered with this morning's service. My normal train is now making a regular stop at Neasden to let a driver off, which it never used to do, but otherwise came in and arrived on time.

So does this mean that the programme of cutting back trees overhanging the lines, and perhaps use of the special train that cleans up the track, has fixed this problem? Good news, if confirmed. Let's have as much greenery as possible but not on the railway please.

Electrical Detectives

Travelling on the tube forces a daily acquaintance with adverts. You can't help but read them, especially when displayed on huge posters on platform walls that you are standing by. One such today appears to be promoting a book, probably a thriller, and has the huge headline "Bosch is back".

Leaving aside the strange concept that the advertiser thinks I may be concerned that this particular fictional character has, in some literary sense, been away, my mind inevitably linked this no doubt worthy hero with the much better known German manufacturer of high grade domestic electrical goods. And, just as inevitably, I began musing on possible follow ups to this gripping series, all of them featuring a tough loner who is not afraid to bend the rules, who lives on the edge and who is motivated by a desire for justice that overrides the corrupt politicians and policemen...well, you get the picture. So stand by for Inspector Electrolux of the Liechtenstein police and Nevada's downbeat private eye Bendix Hoover (he doesn't give a dam) whilst France's super-cool detective makes his entrance in the Casebook of Hercule Frigidaire. Cheeky cub reporter Ken Wood, Italian sex bomb Candy Zanussi and supercilious, duelling-scarred villain Count Indesit Ariston de Dietrich may also feature.

Parallel worlds

No problem on the Bakerloo this morning. I came down the steps at Baker Street, saw one leave and the next arrived within two minutes, with another indicated a couple of minutes behind. Arrived promptly at Waterloo. As I left the station, although a normal pattern was shown on the electronic arrivals board, they were announcing "Severe delays on the Bakerloo" and had handwritten the same message on the noticeboard at the top of the escalators.

I briefly considered advising a station attendant and rejected this idea as being futile and certain to cause frustration. After all, I am only a passenger customer and will be treated as though as I know nothing. Bitter experience you see. So I kept schtum and left.

A visitor from Oz

The wicked witch of the Met writes
On last night's, crowded as usual, Bakerloo train up to Baker Street, I became aware that a woman standing near me was having problems working out where she was. Her accent betrayed her as American. A gentlemen nearby offered to help and showed her where to change for her intended destination of Harrow. They got chatting and as neither bothered to keep their voices down, everyone around them could listen in. "And where are you from?" he asked, perhaps identifying her unusual mid-west twang. "Kansas city" was the answer.

I had to bite hard on the pen I was using to fill in my regular "Codewords" puzzle book that keeps me welcome company on these journeys. For without this essential oral distraction I would surely have announced for all to hear "You're not in Kansas anymore Dorothy".