London Tube Strike

As each side the other condemns
We're tired of "it's not us it's them"s
To make London go
Let's lock up Bob Crow
And chuck Boris into the Thames

To the Woman Beside Me on the Train

Sitting next to a woman on a busy commuter train on Friday, this is the message I wanted to give her. Sadly, being English, I didn't like to make a scene, so I seethed in silence instead.

To the woman beside me on the train:
Yes, I know that this trip is an utter pain
That these seats are designed for a smallish sparrow
With the leg room short and the width so narrow
But you're wriggling and kicking as you twist about the place
Do you even know the meaning of the words "personal space"?
It's so crowded and noisy that like cattle we feel
And your actions make it worse, therefore I propose this deal:
If you 'accidentally' poke me with your elbow where I'm sitting
'Unwittingly' I'll jab you with the needle from my knitting.

Spleen vented. Thank you.

Moving down the train

Through Clapham Junction's rush hour crowd
The tannoy broadcasts clear and loud.
As they pile on, in pouring rain
They're asked to please move down the train.

There's one who doesn't hear the cry
His i-pod volume's much to high
He's lost in his own world, it's plain
"Excuse me - please move down the train."

He's still completely unaware
And blocks their way, still standing there
They ask once more, though it's in vain
"Oh come on, PLEASE move down the train!"

Those in the doorway cannot breathe
And those left on the platform seethe
The crowding's getting quite insane
"LOOK, JUST MOVE DOWN THE FUCKING TRAIN!!!"

To all their cries he's deaf and blind
Until the mob are left behind
But once he's on the move again
Then that's when he moves down the train

The Ballad of the Coventry Ring Road

Visiting relatives in Coventry this weekend. The city is home to what one survivor calls "the road equivalent of a fairground ride - frightening but an awful lot of fun"

One morning Lucifer awoke
To a new day in hell
"I had a dream last night," he spoke,
"An idea for a spell
It's time I had some depraved fun
For I'd become quite bored
This new plan's such a wicked one
It has to be explored."

On well-aged rage he based the brew
Then stirred in conc. despair
And extract of confusion, too
Was whisked in with a flair
Five metric tonnes of distilled stress
The potion mixed and flowed
The sum of all this fiendishness?
The Coventry Ring Road.

Now, some minds less innovative
May think this story junk.
The realists alternative:
The road planners were drunk.
Whichever way it came about,
I hope you will agree,
The ring road is, without a doubt,
A scary place to be.

You'd have to be gazelle-like deft
To stop at each red light
And when that sign back there said "left"
It really meant "turn right".
You think you're in the fastest lane
That much, at least, you know
But once you've turned the bend it's plain
You're really in the slow.

The roundabouts all intersect,
A dainty looping chain
You think you know what to expect
But then you're lost again.
This great ouroboros-like snake
Defies logic or plan,
You realise with a double take
You're back where you began.

The final word on this subject has to go to h2g2 "One of the features of the Coventry Ring Road that appeals to a great many people...is that it provides access to high speed roads that lead away from Coventry"

Snowed in

The guy from ATOC said on the news that "if they're patient, travellers can get where they're going". Clearly he hasn't tried travelling from my local station. Meanwhile, local radio advises train passengers to "check before you travel". Fair enough, but with the National Rail website, special severe weather helpline and regular helplines all inaccessible due to the sheer amount of traffic, quite tricky to achieve unless you're psychic.

Think travelling by road would be better? Well, some bright spark had the idea of ploughing them without gritting, so the roads are sheets of ice, with nice high snow banks either side for the cars to skid into and get stuck. I didn't like to take any pictures of people digging themselves out (some photo-journalist I make), but here's my favourite set of skid marks, beautifully slaloming into the distance

The lights are flickering now, so it's anyone's guess how long we have before the electricity goes...

Losing the train

A true story

“We’ve lost the train,” intones the bored sounding man on the Southwest Trains helpline. As though losing several tons of metal which only trundle up and down one line of track is like mislaying some car keys. Shivering on the platform, waiting for said locomotive, I don’t believe him, so I call again. This time, a woman answers, sounding middle-aged, brisk, like somebody’s mother.

“We’ve lost the train,” she says with absolute sincerity, “The 20.30, 21.00, and 21.30 are all cancelled and the 22.00 has vanished. No, we can’t stop any of the fast trains at your little provincial station as they’re all operated by a different train company. It would be more than our jobs are worth…”

I try to take my mind off my desperate situation by composing a rhyme. But my neural pathways are as frozen as everything else on that glacial, wind-swept platform.

Trains dissolve in freezing air
Dying in the epic frost
Information lines declare
“No idea, the thing’s been lost”

My evening commute took three bitter, agonising, frostbite-inducing hours. At no point was there any hint of an apology. For this I pay £87.50 a week.

Rant over.

My Life is Average

Today on the train I sat next to a guy
Dark-suited and smart, he seemed, sober, discreet
From his well-polished shoes to the knot of his tie
A stereotype from the world of Magritte

He avidly read from a neat, plain black book
What tedious treatise absorbed one so grey?
I craned round his shoulder to take a close look
A novel of Narnia. MLIA.

Alexandrines on the bus

As I was riding on the number 52
These guys got on and then attempted to pursue
A conversation with all those who sat around
Apparently they're tired of seeing all our frowns
The smile I gave to them was very small and tight
And then I turned my gaze outside into the night
I think it's only natural that when we're close
As sardines in a tin we become less verbose
Pretend that we're not packed in a great human pile
By keeping to ourselves. But you say I should smile
I really can't care less for all your "shoulds" and "oughts"
I think you should get lost and leave me to my thoughts