One under

I've been caught up, from time to time, in delays on the Tube caused by a person falling under a train, or in tube-speak a "one-under". These are usually suicide attempts rather than a dreadful consequence of platform overcrowding or a murderous attack. Yesterday I came much closer to one than ever before, though I hasten to add I was not actually in the station when it happened. I was walking back to Finchley Road station in mid afternoon to catch a northbound Metropolitan and saw, as I walked up the road, firstly a considerable traffic jam, then a row of emergency vehicles outside the station and finally the inevitable closed metal gates with a couple of grim faced Tube staff standing on guard.  As there was nothing to say what the problem was, I asked. I was told that it was a person under a train, that the Met was suspended but that the Jubilee was running normally and that the best thing was to walk to Swiss Cottage to board one. Advice I duly took and as our train came through into Finchley Road there was a Met stopped just inside the platform, with a big canvas screen between the train and platform, and emergency crew standing on the tracks.

Having watched the recent BBC TV series "The Tube", where there was plenty of coverage of such incidents, I had some idea of what was going on behind the canopy and that the need to turn off the power would screw up the Met for the rest of the day. And my journey was completed with the aid of the 114 bus from Harrow, there being so few trains running it was not worth waiting for one.

Seeing for real all the paraphernalia surrounding the one under was a bit of jolt. Somewhere in the welter of blue flashing lights and visibility jackets was a person, whether dead or severely injured I don't know.  It's a reality that severely disturbs the familiar - and safe - routine of the daily commute.

They're smarter than we think

A headline on the BBC News website tonight

Escaped wallaby caught using huge fishing net after it swam off island on Scottish estate

But what was the wallaby fishing for?

Winter's last gasp

To the border country of Shropshire, Brecon and Hereford for a few refreshing days away. The petrol tanker drivers postponed their threatened strike and our motoring was not curtailed, as I been fearing it might have to be, when just a few days earlier 3 out of 4 local petrol stations had run dry. Yet the only petrol station in Ludlow not only had no petrol but mournfully informed me, when I phoned to ask if they had supplies, that they were closing for good. A sign of the times, and modern archaeologists may find deserted forecourts and the foundations of pumps and canopies all over the country; no doubt some future experts will ponder the strange rise and fall of these Gasoline people and their penchant for building their temples near to main roads. But I digress.

The marvellous, albeit dry, weather of the past few weeks went out with a bang as blizzards and strong winds battered the north, and plenty of it reached further south. Here are the Brecon Beacons topped with snow just a couple of days ago.

And now we are home and as is traditional for the Easter bank holiday, it is chilly and has been raining a fair bit, the first decent rain for some weeks.  And just as well because with a hosepipe ban now in force, I am dependent on the rain to fill my water butts from which I can top up the pond. I think it will be a poor year for the frogs, alas - the frogspawn is small and there is not much sign of the life from the little black occupants yet.

Petrol, panic and pasties

A possible strike by petrol tanker drivers gave us all the jitters this week. Although the union has to give a week's notice, and is currently in talks and therefore not likely even to set a strike date for some time, some rash comments by Government ministers about topping up sparked an instant rush for the pumps. Many stations ran dry on Thursday and today, out of the four stations between my home and Ickenham, three had no fuel.
I played my own part in this. Having read about the potential strike earlier in the week I went out on Wednesday to fill up, thinking I would be well ahead of the game. I found that the nearest petrol station to me had no fuel but the next one had supplies and I filled up my tank. So I could afford to be smug about the much longer queues reported the next two days.
It is irrational for all to us to try to fill our tanks at once because there is not enough capacity or enough pumps to make it possible. But it is perfectly rational for an individual to fill up if there is a chance to do so. Those of us who have lived through petrol shortages before know how frustrating it is once the queues start to form. Like the famous "Prisoners Dilemma" used in game theory, we know that we are making second-best decisions but are trapped by our inability to communicate and co-ordinate our actions with others.
Anyway this has little to do with commuting because I don't drive into London to go to work. And what about the pasties, you ask, that I mentioned in the headline [yes, what about the pasties?: Ed]. Well, nothing really. They also featured in the news this week, in a ludicrous follow-up to the Budget where some detailed adjustments about the VAT rules relating to hot take-away food were announced and suddenly Ministers were scrambling to establish their credentials as ordinary blokes by boasting about their pasty intake.  A sort of pastry-based panic, if you like and another form of irrationality driven by the desire to dominate news stories.
And in other news, the frogs have at last arrived in our pond but they are few in number and have produced much less frogspawn than in previous years. Well that wraps up tonight's programme and I'm off to get a pasty from my local petrol station. [Get me one too please: Ed]

Signals from afar

I'm commuting later today, but not to go to work. I shall be attending a theatre workshop, courtesy of U3A. However today's travel news is about Mrs. Commuter's brother and sister-in-law who are on their way to visit us from deepest Yorkshire. Alas, an early morning phone call brought the tragic news that they may be 2 hours late due to, wait for it, stop shuffling at the back, it's your own time you're wasting, I can wait here all day if necessary, right, thank you, so, where was I, ah yes, they will be delayed due to signal failure at (or possibly near) Bedford.  I'm not sure if that's a more glamorous excuse than, say, points failure at Arnos Grove or geese on the line near Upney but anyway there it is. They defied me to put it in this blog. I have risen to the challenge and delivered. And remember you heard it here first, not on Twister or whatever it's called.