Thursday, November 30, 2006
Not quite yet, but today was the last day at work; the last commute; the last skinny latte; the last cursing and muttering under the breath at a stupid person on the tube; the last lunch at Pret; the last chance to run the Villiers Street gauntlet of London Lite, London Paper and Oxfam hustlers.
And, so a final struggle to Victoria. In tow, a champagne crate full of personal ephemera. Mongolian flag, Orioles hat, US Senate tumblers, calculator, desk picture of the dogs. Y'know, the usual crud you collect over the years.
The 1637 closed its doors, engaged gear, revved throttle and rumbled out from platform 9.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Just one more day of the undergrind.
Today's delight: delays on the District Line. Decided to wait out the crowds and read my book for 15 minutes.
Basically, London is trying to cope with a system nearly 160 years old. The Underground was never designed as a system. It was designed on the cheap and for profit. The Circle Line would never be built today.
Close the Underground for 5 years, pump in the money and start over again.
Or, move to North Devon.
And, don't get me started on Southern Trains...
Friday, November 24, 2006
A final trip for the company: Wednesday night, Belfast, wind, rain, NIMBYS, dark and rubber duck.
Return journey: Thursday morning, wind, rain, dark, delay, "fast moving air" and go around.
Not sure that Belfast will be on the Donut to do list for quite some time.
Monday, November 20, 2006
The BBC Weather site comes up with a wild prediction for Saturday. Perhaps time to batten down the hatches.
It was a howling gale last night, but not quite what we're in store for next weekend.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
At some times in history, we were all Berliners.
On Thursday and Friday, I was a temporary Berliner.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Why are we moving?
(Not that there's a large countdown board behind my office desk.)
Broad sandy beaches? Surfing? Cream teas? Nestled away coastal villages? Crazy golf? The Barnstaple Western Bypass? Rolling hills? The drug culture?
Maybe it's the broad sandy beaches.
11 working days left (minus 2 days wasted on trips and 2 post-boozy days in the office)
Sunday, November 12, 2006
It's not about glorification of war or even glorification of the dead. It is about remembrance. Remembrance of those who made the ultimate sacrifice without wishing martyrdom.
My grandfather lived through the horrors of World War I and came out the other side. Enlisted at Day One. Saw his regiment destroyed. Gassed. Promoted. Court-martialled. Honoured. He lived. Too many had hardly the experience he did, but did not come out the other side.
I wish my grandfather had lived long enough to pass on his stories.
Here's the Lancashire Fusiliers part of the Remembrance Garden. Grandfather was a transplanted Glaswegian, but the cavalry regiment he joined was more or less obliterated. So he wound up with the Lancashire Fusiliers.
And, then there's Brian Haw's continuing anti-war protest at Parliament Square...
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Monday, November 06, 2006
The Republicans hold the Senate.
Democrats pick up 4 seats.
Your Prediction 49-51
Community Prediction 50-50
The Democrats take the House.
Democrats pick up 21 seats.
Your Predictions 224-211
Community Prediction 230-205
You've got a couple of hours to make your predictions.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
For the first time in several weeks, we were able to go along to our local Farmers' Market.
Local is a relative term.
The market is a car journey away which kind of defeats the object of farmers bringing the produce to you. And, one has to admit that there are very few farms in London which means it's not really local farmers bringing produce to locals.
But, hey. It's fresh and most of the producers are within or just outside the M25. The produce is seasonal and hasn't been flown around the world, packed in airtight plastic or frozen.
So, I consider it "local". Of course, when we move to Devon we'll be growing much more of our own: much more local.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
That's always the way. Lots of things bubbling in the head. Ideas, news, opinions, links to this and that on the interweb, silly stories, odd pictures, right-wing nut jobs.
At the moment, the air smells smoky, there's flash of thunder powder and if it weren't for the excuse of Guido Fawkes you'd think that London was under a mortar attack. Off in the distance there's the deep rumble of some awesome rockets. Near distance, it's the off beat bang of cheaper ordinance.
Yet, it's not enough inspiration for a blog post.
Tomorrow there will be a post. I can feel it in my bones. It's a post about how there's less than four weeks before the job is done. Four weeks tomorrow and the Donut takes up temporary residence in North Devon. Devonians won't know what hit 'em. Literally.
But, there's other stuff. This was never meant to be a diary this blog thing. At one stage it was going to be a standard of excellent liberal minded comment. Okay, so forget that. Yet, there's other stuff that needs airing and I'm not just talking underpants. Or, perhaps I am?
Tomorrow there will be another picture. But, there'll also be a post.
Do you like the pictures? Well, why don't you comment then? Comment is free.
It's going to be a fine day in the morn. A fine day for bike riding, gardening, going to the farmer's market, baking bread, making pizza and writing blog posts.
Tomorrow there will be a post. It's going to be a good one.
I can feel it.
A waxing gibbous according to the Moon Calculator to your left.