Mind the Gap

Every day I travel just a measily ten miles to work and back yet this may take me sometimes up to two hours each way...And that's rank!

Most days the annoying banal robotic voice comes over the tannoy to tell us how sorry it is my train has been delayed - or worse still, cancelled. Until moving to London, I never knew that robots could be so informative, your train is late due to "a fault with a preceding train", "signalling problems" or "someone has vomited on my lap". If anyone has ever read the book The Hitchikers Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams you will know that Marvin the paranoid android was given GPP - Genuine People's Personality. Well I think that the same should be done with both the male and femaile robotic voices on our transport infrastructure. If all is going well with the London Underground then there should be a party fanfare with whistles, bells and a merrily drunk sounding robot slurring their words. If its bad news then maybe the sound of a single bell tolling on a cold winters morning, a crow caws and the robot starts to mumble.................Hmmmmm then again, maybe not. Although I do find it amusing how the robots on the train tell us that we are next pulling into whatever station, as though it is also a traveller too making their own way to work every day.

Many times I wonder why the train operators only use such short carriages. I don't mean the actual length of the carriage is in minature, more along the lines that there are never enough carriages for the volume of people per train. I think I heard once that it was something to do with carriage length V platform length ratio, and that some platforms are simply not long enough to accommodate all carriages on a single train. Now this argument would make sense were it not for the fact that all carriages are interlinking and you can quite safely walk from one to another without requiring to undertake a risk assessment or method of operation first. So even if a certain platform is too short, you can still board safely and walk through, thus ensuring you get a seat and are not as it currently applies, get yourself wedged under the over large smelly armpit of the man standing next to you with his hand on the upper rail steadying himself as the train moves along. Yuk Yuk!

There are said to be around eight million people that live in London and the surrounding areas, of which around one million travel to the city every day by train. At Waterloo station alone there are 16 platforms and at the height of rushour a new train will arrive and leave every couple of minutes. A typical eight car train is meant to hold around one hundred passengers seated per car. Multiply that by eight and you have eight hundred people. However, for those who have ever been to the busiest station in the country - Clapham on a rushour weekday morning, you will know that this is never the case. Without knowing actual figures I have regularly seen around 1500 people disembark by falling out of the doors as the train stops at Waterloo. If the elf and safety bods would ever allow it then I'm sure that Japanese style packers would be stood on the platforms to cram yet another helpless soul onto another square centimetre of space so they too can join in the robotic chorus, followed quickly by, "Mind the Gap".

Then, as if this was not enough comes the worse part.........someone does a silent fart!

Coughs, sneezes, crowds, invasion of personal space and rising fares are all things that the daily commuter has to put up with, and yet they do it day in day out with very little comment. Most people like myself will bury themselves in a free daily newspaper or book, some will either just sit and look out of the window and stare, some will fall asleep, or pretend to be asleep whilst others play annoying tinny sounding music through their personal headphones. Many thanks mate but if I wanted to listed to the greatest hits of the Goombay Dance Band then I would have bought their Christmas Album when it first came out - although for those of you however who may be interested, you can buy it here http://www.amazon.co.uk/Christmas-Album-Goombay-Dance-Band/dp/B0006J1QKI

There is however a more serious side to all of this. Around 200 deaths a year are caused by people wishing to take their own lives by stepping out in front of a moving train whether it is by overland or underground. Whilst I have never personally whitnessed such an incident, I have been caught up in the delays of the aftermath and the views of some of my fellow commuters I have to say is appalling. As far as they are concerned they have been put out for an hour or so from making their way home and loudly voice their opinions about it. Big Deal! As far as I am concerned, someone has found themselves in such a position that the only exit they could see out of their life, is death, and to do it quickly and as painless as possible by going uder the wheels of a train travelling at sixty miles an hour. As mentioned at the top of this blog, I live ten miles from work and if I have to walk the entire journey home one night due to severe disruptions as a result of a suicide then so be it because at the end of the day I arrive back to a loving partner with open arms and food on the table. And just to point out - yes, I have done it.

On a more lighter note some of the other things you see on your daily travels are tourists. London's full of them. They stop to take pictures of landmarks, they stop to take pictures of people, they stop to take pictures of anything. The worse thing out of all of this is that they usually seem to stop right in front of you, and that can sometimes cause a human pile up. Especially when they try and get their luggage through the barriers at a train station which automatically close once a person et sans luggage has gone through. This invariably results in a trapped suitcase and ear piercing whine from the barrier as it screams at you as if to say to bugger off from my doors.

Often, you will see someone with a map and a cofused look on their face, hell I've even done it myself - in fact when I first moved here I didn't even know what an Oyster card was. Now however, I sometimes feel as though I should wear a badge and peaked cap with the words Tourist Information emblazoned on the top as I get asked so many times how do I get to.... Or, which bus shall I catch? Sometimes my answer of "a red one" causes even greater confusion but then I usually relent and show them where to go.

With the London 2012 Olympics rapidly approaching one question that is on many peoples lips around the capital is how are they going to get from A to B without running into problems of over crowded tubes, buses and trains. The ones running the show assure us that plans are in place to avoid hotspots throughout the duration but I have to say personally that I'm a bit sceptical about it all. Already there are large portions of overcrowding on some routes around the capital and I think its just going to get worse before it gets better. I know that for the benefit of the country, having the Olympics here is quite a feat which should help boost the economy, promote good health, wellbeing and friends amongst nations. After all, the money that is being ploughed into the event it is hoped that we should get a good return for our investment. But from a travel perspective, well we are just going to have to see, only time will tell.

Wingwalker.

Adventurers wanted

Wanted! Adventurous couple to join us on a two week holiday around October / November time to drive from London up to the Arctic Circle and back. The aim of the trip is to hopefully see the Auora Borealis  (Northern Lights) whilst having a winter wonderland snow filled driving road trip along the way.

We are looking for someone to help share the costs of this trip which will include 4x4 vehicle hire, food, accommodation and any other expenses inbetween. The ideal couple should have at least five years driving experience each including off road 4x4 driving, be experienced in travelling abroad, have the ability to be resourceful, don't mind all weathers and most of all, have a great sense of humour.

If this sounds like you then get in touch and lets have some fun.

Wingwalker.


Note: There will be no guarantee of seeing the Northern Lights when we get there at all but unless you try then you definately wont see anything. Nothing ventured, nothing gained :-)

Dogs V Cats

I hate cats! But lurve dogs :-)

So I've decided to do todays blog on the best and worst of both species and let you come up with what you think is best. With a little help from a couple of others I've come up with a compilation of both the pro's and cons of the cat versus the dog. I'm told that cats are supposedly independent, make good pest control, are affectionate (yea right, my arse - only when they actually want something) are easy to keep, clean and know when to stop eating when they are full.

However, the reality for me is that they have claws, are ignorant, selfish, totally unaffectionate, just want you for your food and as was pointed out to me last night - they like to sit on your head. Although I have to admit that last comment did come to the surface after whiskey had been consumed so I'm not actually sure if it counts??? Oh and did I say, they have claws too. Savagely they rip you apart with their monstrous talons ripping through your jeans as you try and keep them steady on your lap. As a man you have to be particularly careful otherwise you could get more than just your ears pierced. They can also hiss, they can spit and they can dribble.

Dogs however... are cute, lovable, reliable, enthusiastic, can be good hunters as well as good security guards. They can be trained in the art of search and rescue, they can beat crime by sniffing dope and getting legally high on behalf of the authorities and they can do good works by being an extra set of eyes to aid a blind person.

However, according to my dearly beloved - the cat lover, dogs smell, they are stupid and sit in womens handbags. Hardly an argument when the biased is so heavily one sided, but there you are. And just to prove my point, the extract below is from a well known Diary of a dog and cat, I think its wonderful and sums things up in a nutshell...

Dogs diary.

8:00 am - Dog food! My favorite thing!
  9:30 am - A car ride! My favorite thing!
  9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00 pm - Milk bones! My favorite thing!
  1:00 pm - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
  3:00 pm - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
  5:00 pm - Dinner! My favorite thing!
  7:00 pm - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
  8:00 pm - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
11:00 pm - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!


Cats diary.

The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet. Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates my capabilities. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am. Bastards!

    There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of "allergies." I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.

    Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow, but at the top of the stairs.

    I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released, and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded. The bird must be an informant. I observe him communicate with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now ...

So, to summarise.....

Dogs rule, I win :-)

Wingwalker.

 

Snot

Love it or hate it we all have it. Earlier today I was challenged with the task of seeing if it was possible to find anyone who has made money out of the stuff as part of a little bet I have with someone. So, does anyone know any really good uses apart from flicking across the room at targets and has anyone ever seen a good commercial use for the mucus we affectionally call snot?

Wingwalker.

Bloody foreigners!

Bloody foreigners!

England has more than one boundary. Apart from the obvious of Ireland, Scotland and Wales there is also the additional inclusion of...The M25.

Every time I travel around the country I always feel as though whenever I cross over the M25 border I need to get out my passport to enter into another world, a world of anyone and everyone from outside of the UK. Now as I have stipulated in my introductory to the side of this blog I am fortunate enough to be well travelled and have been across most parts of the globe so I can hardly spout my mouth off when it comes to others visiting this country, when I have been doing it myself often enough the other way around.

The well known and far too often used phrase in this country is "Multiculturalism". We are a multi cultural society. In 1953 England opened up its doors to the outside world and said come on in, do our jobs, get paid a wage and live well. The masses heard our cry and came...in droves, taking the jobs and setting up shanty towns. Enoch Powell said at the time to the UK Government that there are now too many coming in and that all the foreigners will take over but he was shunned at the time and metaphorically shot down in flames.

Before moving to London I used to live in the New Forest not too far from the south coast. Englands green and pleasant land where the ponies and deer roam freely, the air is rich with wildlife, life is pleasant, relaxing and slower paced. The view of a person from outside of the UK other than on a mini break is rare and to have someone live next door even more so. But in London, when it comes to immigrancy, life is a whole world away and just simply could not be further. Interestingly enough a Spanish couple who I know that both live and work in London asked me a question which I found very difficult to answer. They said "why are there so many foreign people in London?" I found this to be an amusing paradox by someone who is residing here from another shoreline asking this type of question. They were viewing our country from the outside looking in and saw what appeared to be an alarming rise on non UK residents.

So why is there such a large volume of people from other shores coming here to live and work in the UK? To try and answer this question in part I was going to quote a few statistics from the UK Home Office website showing the number of visitors we had in 2011. However as always in these kind of cases nothing is ever straight forward when accessing a Government website and I was taken from one link to another with headings, sub headings, catagories and even more sub catagories with no straight forward answer. If you really want to see some figures then you can have a look for yourself here http://www.ukba.homeoffice.gov.uk/  

Now at this point I have to say that those who live outside the ringfence that is the M25 - in particular in this case The New Forest there is a quite typical view that these bloody foreigners are coming in, taking our jobs, living in our houses and generally taking over. They claim "asylum" when in reality life is actually quite alright for them back home but all they want is an easy ride, a free loader riding on the benefit gravy train that the UK so seemingly freely gives. However, whilst this does happen, we know it happens, I can now say that I've also seen things from the other side of the coin.

Within all parts of the UK there are people who have come here from foreign lands. London, Manchester, Glasgow and in-between you will see someone who's ancestory was not that of the pure thoroughbred which we call "Saxon British". Generations of individuals from the early 1950's onwards are now born, grow up, work, pay taxes, live their lives and die. They live in their own communities, have their own ways of expressing themselves, eat how they eat, drink how they drink, attend their own type of religious institutes and generally get on with things. The clashes however come to light when they try to instigate their own views with a narrow minded cynisism onto that of others, and since the birth of the internet 25 years ago, their views have expanded expotentially. And so the problems have grown.

Two days ago I was talking to a student from Estonia. He has come to the UK to study and improve his knowledge in his chosen career. We talked at length of comparisons between the two countries ranging from educational establishments through to money, careers and even who has the most evil serial killers (which sadly the UK won on this one - citing the likes of Myra Hindley and Ian Brady, Fred and Rose West and the biggest one of them all - Harold Shipman). However, he told me a story of a friend of his also from Estonia who is living and working over here as a waiter. Nothing unusual about that you might say until you hear that in Estonia this particular individual used to be a senior detective in the Police force!

For the waiting detective (see what I did there) you have got to ask yourself the question why would someone who is in such high authority, leave the country they grew up in and move en masse with their wife and child to go to another land so far away with no certainty of their future to end up working as a waiter? The answer is simple. Money and lifestyle. In the UK a waiter can take home their monthly wage as well as tips, and then depending on how their daily timescale works out, maybe even another part time job to fill in the gap between. And still they will be better off than that of the senior detective who will work all hours and slave away in the hope of catching their man for just a fraction of the wage. In this case, the detective really has come for a better life for he and his family.

And he is not on his own, tens of thousands of individuals are coming over to the UK for a better life than that of the one in their own country. And for any one of those who are willing to work hard, play hard, pay their taxes and contribute to British society then why not let them come in. Unfortunately the problem lies with the freeloaders that we know exist, and for those who are caught by the officials I say kick em back out again. For the narrow minded Brits all they will see is that all foreigners are the same and will tarr them with the same brush. Right or wrong, this will be one of those things that will carry on and on. Whilst the UK Government keeps handing out benefits in the form of money, houses and aid to the asylum claiming freeloaders then the world will keep on knocking at our door.

In my opinion we should stop the problem at its roots. Stop throwing cash into the endless bottomless pit that is a freeloader and come down hard on those who feel they can cheat the system. Show the world that actions like this will not be tolerated and let everyone know we are no longer a soft touch. Sadly, the ones that weild the power in this country often show signs of being spineless when it comes to instances like this. They play the political game of will you be my friend, hoping that if you scratch my back then I'll scratch yours. And whilst this continues the freeloading outsiders will just keep on coming.

Wingwalker.

Redundancy

Can you come into my office for a moment please? Your boss asks you. At first you don't think anything unusual as you have been in and out of the office dozens of times on work related matters, but this time its different. As you walk in you see your boss behind his desk and sat alongside is Jane from the HR department. Both ashen faced. What's going on you ask?

Your boss starts to speak, I'll keep this short and to the point, the company has been having to go through a period of re-structuring and I'm afraid to tell you we are going to have to let you go. Your position is now no longer required. Jane will explain to you your rights, here is your redundancy package, it's not you, its the role. Save the speech you think to yourself as your mind slowly starts to spin, your stomach turns into a tight ball and you start to feel physically sick.

Your boss carries on talking but quite frankly at that point the words sound so very far away and you only catch every other line as though they are carried on the wind across a large field of corn. The meeting is over and you are given the rest of the day off work. To sit. To think. To take in you are no longer employed.

What do you do?

Sadly this is the grim true reality of what is happenning to so many people at the moment. You look at the leaflets that Jane from HR has given you and they do offer some good advice so take it. Some people will be glad to get out as they were only slaves to the system and to them its not too much of a worry. But to others, its more of an issue. The physical aspect when news like this is given to someone can be quite unusual and can show how the human body reacts or manifests its'self. Some go into shut down, some dont. Some will go into overdrive, some dont. Others will sit, think and then start what can be the labourious and tedious job of trying to find their next source of income.

A few years ago when this happenned to me I was one of those who went into overdrive. Instantly I panicked and started to text and email anyone and everyone I could think of to see if I could get any work. Although sympathetic, all of them said no and it was not until nearly three months later that I found my next job. In the meantime however I had to sign on and join the what seems to be the ever growing dole queue. I had to contact my bank and various other establishments who I was in financial communication with and explain my situation, but then comes the predicament... How can you make the calls, send the emails, or drive from one place to another when your main body of income has just been slashed to pieces? The calls cost money, the internet costs money and fuel has rocketed so high we are practically going into orbit.

Then there is the more immediate problem of food, drink, water and heating. All of a sudden what you once took for granted is now brought to the forefront of your mind in huge letters and you think to yourself how will I cope? Well, the only advice that I can give having been in that situation is this. Do not panic. Panic leads to irrational thinking and mistakes can be made. Do not be lazy. Thinking to yourself hey I've now got a mini holiday so lets have a few days away can sometimes do you more harm than good. Do get good advice, if you were already in some financial difficulty and this has just made it worse then talk to the professionals. For free and impartial advice make an appointment with your local Citizens Advice Beaureau. Do get your finances into some kind of order wherever possible and think rationally. Little things like do I really need to get a daily newspaper when I only ready half of it anyway, do I need the all singing all dancing package from my satellite supplier or can I get away with a reduced deal - and the real killer for me anyway..... How much chocolate do I eat in a week?

I don't want to come across as condescending or to talk down to anyone so don't take it the wrong way, but I've been there in that situation and its a bitch of a place to be in. At the moment I'm still in a job and most thankful to be here which I say most days. Money is tight and jobs tighter but take a little comfort in that fact that you are not on your own. Others around you will either be going through the same experience or have been through it in the past. If you are strong enough and in the right mind you will get through and it will get better. As the old saying goes, Keep Calm and Carry On.

Wingwalker.

One for the Blog or one for the Bog?

 Love it or hate it modern art is here to stay. Only this morning I saw a picture in the newspaper which shows a group of Olympic village workers sitting on a nearby riverside dressed in their work gear with their high visibility jackets, hard hats and sandwiches wrapped in tin foil, overlooking the water they survey all that is around them. The title of the piece is called Freeze Frame and on first glance it looks like just a bunch of guys sitting by the river and you ask yourself how on earth is this possibly called “art” However, when you look at it in closer detail you then realise it is in actual fact a modern day take on an original masterpiece created by a French post-impressionist painter called Georges Seurat who’s real title is Bathers At Asnieres painted in 1884

Then you have another example that I saw on the TV a few years ago. Whilst idly flicking through the channels one night I came across a documentary style program of an artist in his workshop. It had all the hallmarks of the classic man at work in his studio with splattering’s of paint here and there, brushes in jars half filled with water, a few pieces stacked up against one wall, skylight windows and a cup of cold tea on a table. He was master of his domain, king of the studio, his work was…..well, a piece of art!

It wasn’t the fact that here was a man at work, it was more to do with the piece that he made and I’ll try to explain it here…Imagine if you can a rectangular wooden frame around 3 metres by 2 metres covered in a white canvas which is stretched tight and stapled to the frame. Next, take a pot of red paint and heavily cover the whole of the canvas. Whilst the paint is still wet, take a suitable object to scrape off the excess top layer and leave the remainder to dry. Et voila, there you have it! The whole process took him no more than a couple of hours from start to finish, cost him a minimal amount in materials and was then sold for a whopping £900!!!!!!!!! Someone once said that people would stick tenner’s up their bums if they thought it was fashionable and I think that the same goes for life in the art world too. Give something a fancy name, make up a load of nondescript info and call it “artistic”.

Now for me, the mother of all philistines’ art is something that you can view to understand a story or depiction. John Constables Haywain, Whistlers Mother, Van Gough’s Sunflowers or even probably the most famous of them all, Da Vinci’s The Last Supper. I’ll even stretch and twist my mind a little to viewing Picasso but I find it completely and utterly mind bogglingly dull to appreciate most forms of “Modern Art”. Can anybody explain to me how Dolly the sheep, Tracy Emin’s messed up bed or lights being turned on and off in a blank white room depict art? It is said to be in the mind of the beholder and their interpretation of what they see. Well, I see a messed up bed every morning when I get up, I turn on the light to walk into the kitchen then turn it back off again, and as for the sheep… well we’ll leave that one there…

In my line of work I occasionally get a person of an artistic nature requesting me to help them with their vision, their dream. However, sadly, all they can see is the end concept and that’s it! It then becomes my job to help work out the technicalities and the practical implications of whether their design is achievable or not. In some cases it can be done, in others it can’t and when you tell someone that what they want is not possible, verging on the impossible – let alone silly, they tend to get a little upset and blame you for ruining their work, their concept and sometimes, their whole life. The mind of an artist I’ve noticed is usually narrow when it comes to their work and to ask them for, dare I mention it, “the bigger picture” can equate to that of asking a snowman to hang around on the beach in the mid July sunshine – possible if you have a fridge nearby but usually unlikely to happen.

But what about when modern art goes wrong? In 2011 the Tate Modern gallery in London accepted a piece called “The walking boat” by Andrew Baldwin  http://www.walkingboat.com/  this 40ft boat was due to travel up the river Thames in London, stop outside the gallery, turn and then quite literally “walk” up the shore line to the edge of the building. From an engineering perspective that must have been pretty awesome to see had it have worked. Two years manufacturing and whatever money was spent in creating this huge metal beast failed right at the final hurdle. Majestically the boat sailed up the Thames, stopped, turned and… sunk into the mud due to the sheer weight of the entire boat! If ever there was a good time for a Homer Simpson Doh! That was it.

This is a subject that could, like most artists, go on and on. An artist usually only becomes famous when they are dead anyway so what’s the point in that? The art world is in my opinion quite a strange one – secluded from the outside world and reality. They are wrapped up in their own little bubble continually repeating their same old and tired record of how the viewer can engage, visualise, feel and remonstrate with the piece. If you took a mug tree from out of your kitchen and placed it in a gallery you would be told that the vertical stem represents strength, the arms are reaching out in an ever splendid pose, as though longing and searching for their nearest mate. The cups that hang from it will represent glowing colourful containers helping to provide heated springs of life in the form of the organic plant to the ever living soul and the round base will be the platform of stability, never ending, never beginning.

To you and me however, it’s just a mug tree! Find me two artists that agree with one another and I’ll find you a liar.

Wingwalker.