London…
Sigh…!
Sigh…!
Every January I'm compelled to make a visit to the place and every time I come away from it so full of loathing that it probably takes at least ten months before I can convince myself that I could tolerate a return.
It's such a ghastly place.
Really, I don't know why anyone would want to live there…*
Still, I suppose people do… and some people actually claim to love the place which, quite frankly, I find slightly worrisome.
Still, I suppose people do… and some people actually claim to love the place which, quite frankly, I find slightly worrisome.
This year's trip included the extra frisson of being required to purchase a ticket for my cross-London Underground travel over to the Docklands which meant queuing up, fathoming the subtleties of a rinky-dinky machine, and risking the wrath of the hundreds of waiting users standing impatiently behind me as I fed an extraordinarily huge quantity of coinage to the beast.
If I might get "political" for a moment, I'm sure that removing all of the ticket offices on the tube will make that particular nugget of funfulness far, far worse...
If I might get "political" for a moment, I'm sure that removing all of the ticket offices on the tube will make that particular nugget of funfulness far, far worse...
Still, I'm now home from my latest adventure in the Smoke, and, astoundingly, I'm still chock-full of the same old sense of dislike I have about the old capital city. After the long wait I mentioned in an earlier post, I was just about to get on the approaching train when I opened my bottle of Buxton Spring Water, only to discover that I'd unwittingly bought the sparkling kind, and so I clambered aboard looking as if there had been a sudden shower.
Happily, because this was a British train, nobody commented upon it and I was able to sail down the country without having to exchange any pleasantries with any of my unknown and unknowable travelling companions, whilst tutting every so often at the loud (and very Northern) lady who had to spend the entire journey supervising her staff by telephone instead of just letting them get on with it.
I, of course, remained more-or-less "gadget-free" seeing as I would rather gnaw off my own leg than actually have a conversation within earshot of a load of strangers. I swiftly bored of my book, too and, instead, passed a happy hour-and-a-half or so looking out of the window and watching the world go by, and fretting (ever so slightly) about that ticket-buying experience which still lay ahead of me…
Unhappily, once the ticket was eventually purchased, the sticky, sweaty, filthy and vandalised unpleasantness that calls itself London was crossed within an hour, the usual pictures of GitWorld (a.k.a. Canary Wharf) were taken, and the Trade Show was arrived at, viewed, and departed from, having done horrendous things to my lower back which will take days to recover from.
Once again, I persuaded m'colleagues to cross back through London to Euston station with an excess of time ("just in case") and we found ourselves face to armpit with the Underground during the rush hour which is, as always, a most delightful way of passing another hour of your life.
Having partaken of the annual hastily grabbed burger meal and discovered, as ever, that you really do need three arms to manipulate it and consume it, I ended up perched next to a bin trying to gobble it down which is, as ever, one of the finer eateries which the capital has to offer the wary traveller.
Shortly afterwards there was the usual mad dash for the designated platform (once it gets announced) in that daily game of "Passenger Roulette" so beloved of the station announcers at Euston, and, after a slight altercation in which I asked to get to my allocated seat and consequently scared off the bloke who'd already parked himself in the one next to it, I silently endured the return journey home on another packed train upon which there was, apparently, unreserved seating in coaches "F" and "U" (about which I'll pass no further comment…) and arrived back home at my own little sanctuary at around about 10:30 in the evening.
But, I'm more than certain that you don't want to hear about my travel woes or my professional unpleasantnesses, do you?
I'm sure that you'd much rather hear about the depression, misery and woe that overwhelms me every time I am required to go out into the big wide world, and how I end up mulling obsessively about my inability to interact with other people (or rather "People") under such circumstances in that affable, easy-going manner, which appears to come oh-so-very easily to just about everyone else, but which leaves me feeling awkward and stupid and being regarded as that "utterly strange and silent bloke" who sat opposite you all the way home from London…
No…?
Okay then…
It's probably for the best that I did just shut up, then...
*This posting has (you might already have guessed) been in no way supported by the London Tourist Board.
Happily, because this was a British train, nobody commented upon it and I was able to sail down the country without having to exchange any pleasantries with any of my unknown and unknowable travelling companions, whilst tutting every so often at the loud (and very Northern) lady who had to spend the entire journey supervising her staff by telephone instead of just letting them get on with it.
I, of course, remained more-or-less "gadget-free" seeing as I would rather gnaw off my own leg than actually have a conversation within earshot of a load of strangers. I swiftly bored of my book, too and, instead, passed a happy hour-and-a-half or so looking out of the window and watching the world go by, and fretting (ever so slightly) about that ticket-buying experience which still lay ahead of me…
Once again, I persuaded m'colleagues to cross back through London to Euston station with an excess of time ("just in case") and we found ourselves face to armpit with the Underground during the rush hour which is, as always, a most delightful way of passing another hour of your life.
Having partaken of the annual hastily grabbed burger meal and discovered, as ever, that you really do need three arms to manipulate it and consume it, I ended up perched next to a bin trying to gobble it down which is, as ever, one of the finer eateries which the capital has to offer the wary traveller.
Shortly afterwards there was the usual mad dash for the designated platform (once it gets announced) in that daily game of "Passenger Roulette" so beloved of the station announcers at Euston, and, after a slight altercation in which I asked to get to my allocated seat and consequently scared off the bloke who'd already parked himself in the one next to it, I silently endured the return journey home on another packed train upon which there was, apparently, unreserved seating in coaches "F" and "U" (about which I'll pass no further comment…) and arrived back home at my own little sanctuary at around about 10:30 in the evening.
But, I'm more than certain that you don't want to hear about my travel woes or my professional unpleasantnesses, do you?
I'm sure that you'd much rather hear about the depression, misery and woe that overwhelms me every time I am required to go out into the big wide world, and how I end up mulling obsessively about my inability to interact with other people (or rather "People") under such circumstances in that affable, easy-going manner, which appears to come oh-so-very easily to just about everyone else, but which leaves me feeling awkward and stupid and being regarded as that "utterly strange and silent bloke" who sat opposite you all the way home from London…
No…?
Okay then…
It's probably for the best that I did just shut up, then...
*This posting has (you might already have guessed) been in no way supported by the London Tourist Board.
I have never understood why people are drawn to London. But then that us perhaps because I never lived there.
ReplyDeleteHilarious.
ReplyDeleteMy sentiments exactly.
ReplyDeleteHaving once commuted to London for a while, it was like travelling into Hell each morning; why anyone would choose to live in such a place is quite simply beyond me. I've even heard that some actually enjoy living there - so sad.