Public Transport Woes and Bonfire Night

I am fully moved!

When I first came to the UK, all my worldly possessions (in this hemisphere) fitted into one suitcase and a backpack. Now I have enough to fill the suitcase three times over, as well as the backpack.And a plastic bag. And a small blue guitar.

On Saturday I dragged my empty suitcase back to my old flat, filled it and started back to the new flat. When I got to the tube station, the next train on the fast branch was eight minutes away (eight ENTIRE minutes) so I took a train on the slower branch and got off at Waterloo.

The change at Waterloo is quite long, but it includes a travelator which is fun. Just as I reached the Jubilee line, a train pulled up going west, and I just managed to get on.

At this point I should mention that, usually, I have a pretty good sense of direction. Unfortunately, it doesn't work in the Northern Hemisphere. It goes further than not being able to tell where north is - I keep believing east is west and west is east, even when I think about it.

So yes, I was on the wrong train. I lugged my suitcase, guitar, backpack and plastic bag of food off at the next station, Westminster (by the Houses of Parliament - maybe I was subconsciously trying to visit them on Guy Fawkes?),  up the escalator and onto an eastbound train.

All was well after that. Well, mostly. I caught the bus that set me at the top of the hill rather than the bottom, but halfway through the route the bodiless voice that announces the stops declared "This bus is on diversion", and kept declaring it every ten seconds.

We were not going in the right direction. We were not going to pass my stop.

The bus finally doubled back again, and I followed us on Google Maps until we were the closest we were going to get to my flat, then jumped off and dragged my suitcase, guitar, backpack and plastic bag up a hill,  muttering to myself all the way.

Stupid diversions.

Saturday night was Guy Fawkes, or as it's more well-known here, Bonfire Night. This night comemorates the day 406 years ago that Guy Fawkes and some other people tried to biow up the British Houses of Parliament, and in New Zealand people let off fireworks (it's the only time of year you can buy them) and watch public displays. In the UK, they have bonfires too, and throw straw effigies of Guy Fawkes on them.

I'd researched a few displays and had two options, but for one of them I didn't know the bus route and I wasn't going to trust myself to unknown public transport after the day's public transport adventures. Instead I went to North Greenwich, where I was able to see two fireworks displays as well as the Canary Wharf skyscrapers all lit up (one of them was doing fake fireworks in lights all along its side) and a green line of laser light shooting across the sky.

A green line, pointing north, near Greenwich. Hmm. Could this be the earthly representation of the Greenwich Mean Line?

And the bus got me back home with no trouble! Hurray.

Tube Battle Tactics, and a win.

I didn't manage to get my Wednesday post up this week, owing to spending most of my time flat hunting or, ahem, watching Merlin (it counts as research on plotting and humour). Today, therefore, will probably be an extra-long post. I have much to discuss.

First: Tube Battle Tactics.

Sometimes signals fail. Sometimes trains break down. Sometimes someone jumps onto the tracks. This means that there will be 'minor delays' or 'severe delays' on the line, or they might even close the entire line and 'your tickets will be valid on local bus services'. On Thursday morning, just as I was passing Hampstead, the driver announced that there were severe delays on the Victoria Line due to a defective train.

I change to the Victoria Line at Euston, and when there are delays (or even when there aren't delays) you might have to wait for three or four trains to go past before you can sardine yourself on. The Northern Line (Bank Branch) platform at Euston is separated from the Victoria Line platform by a short corridor, which is one of the best tube changes I've come across. I was on a Bank Branch train, as usual, but I stared at the Underground map and formulated my Battle Tactics. It may help to have a copy of the Underground map in front of you as you read the next bit.

The Northern Line (Charing Cross Branch) also goes through Euston, but is separated from the Victoria Line by two escalators, multiple sets of stairs and many corridors. Two stops later, at Warren St, it crosses the Victoria Line again, so you can change here, but again there are many escalators, stairs and corridors. The Victoria Line platform at Warren St, however, is very rarely crowded, and you can usually get on the first train.

So I got off my train at Camden Town, and took the next Charing Cross Branch train. Then I got off at Euston.

The sharp-eyed among you will notice that this was the wrong station.

I was almost at the Victoria Line platform before I realised my mistake. I had been wondering vaguely why the sequence of steps and escalators and corridors was different from what I remembered, but never got further than wondering vaguely. I determined to stick it out at Euston. Then I saw the platform spilling people down the corridors, and turned back the way I'd come.

Back on a Northern Line train. Mornington Crescent. Warren St. Change for Victoria Line. A train right at the platform, and not very many people. Hooray!

Finally I was on a Victoria Line train, squashed in, but going the right direction on the right line. For future reference: Do not attempt to execute Tube Battle Tactics when half asleep.

More was to come. Just as we were getting into Green Park, we were told that Victoria Station was closed (no idea why, but probably due to overcrowding). Some Victoria-bound people got off at Green Park, but not that many. I didn't realise just how few had disembarked until we got to Pimlico, and 95% of the people on the train got off.

Pimlico's a relatively small station. It has two escalators and a set of stairs. You might wait thirty seconds or so to get onto the escalator, or a bit longer if you want to stand as you ride the escalator, but never longer. But today the escalator hall was so full it was taking a while to even get off the platform.

The reason: the escalators weren't working. No idea why. I got out my book as we shuffled along, into the sea of people that was the escalator hall. They weren't letting any passengers into the station from outside, so both escalators and the stairs were filled with trudging people, two on each step. At a guess, there are about one hundred steps, and it was quite a sight to see so many bobbing heads and shoulders moving up and up and up.

Needless to say, I was late for work.

Next: Go All Blacks!

This probably should have gone first, but considering my last post was mostly about rugby, I thought I'd put it further down so the less-rugby-minded wouldn't be put off. Heh.

I went back to the Sports Bar at New Zealand House, reaching the doors just in time to see the haka. They were taking a cover charge of £5 cash-only and I had a grand total of £1.36 on my person, so I had to go a-looking for an ATM. These are in short supply in the area of Haymarket, Piccadilly Circus and Leicester Square, and even some of those that exist are out of order. Eventually I found one that would give me money, and ran back to the bar (I did a lot of running this morning). I still haven't got into the habit of carrying real money around with me...

To my surprise, around half the patrons in the bar were French. The French were easy to spot, because they kept chanting "Allez les Bleus" (go the Bleus) and clapping/jeering excessively whenever the All Blacks made a mistake. I reflected on sports etiquette, and wondered whether we did the same as the French. In some cases, I guess we did. Over the course of the match, thought, I decided that it is okay to cheer for your team when they do something good, but it is bad form to cheer for your team when the other team does something bad that has no connection whatsoever to the actions of your team. I.e., do not yell "Allez les Bleus" whenever a conversion or a penalty is missed.

It's just not cricket.

In the second half, some kiwis took up a chant of "Kiwi!" (clap clap clap), so we did that whenever the French began theirs.

It was a very close, very tense game. The curse of the All Blacks Number 10 jersey reared its head as the third man to wear it in the Cup was taken off with an over-extended knee (they kept replaying it. And replaying it. It looked extremely painful the first time. I didn't need to watch it a second or a third). I thought the All Blacks looked quite scrappy for a while, but then I realised that's just how you play defence. I'm not used to seeing them in defence. The French were a hard team to beat.

At last the final whistle blew, and the Black-clothed half of the bar cheered. Lots of people left, and the speakers began playng "We are the Champions" at top volume.

Now I'm back home with my homemade banana pudding with limoncello icing, which is as good as it sounds. Have a good week!

The London Underground (plus Jack the Ripper and Harrods)

I keep thinking I'll have one nice post with one nice topic in it, and then things happen and I think oh! I have to put that in as well. So you are treated/made to suffer multiple topics in a post.

So! The Underground was my planned main topic, because I was stuck for ten minutes just outside Victoria Station earlier this week. I'd spent five minutes trying to catch a Victoria line train, because the platform was so full and the trains were so full that three went past before I could squeeze my way on. Lucky the trains run every minute or so - I counted between one train leaving and the next arriving, and got to 22 seconds.

There were a lot of people on the platform, as afore-mentioned, and they were all trying to get the best spots to board the trains. This meant that people were standing right on the yellow line about a foot from the edge of the platform, and didn't tend to move when the train roared past them at high speed. Near the end of my stay on the platform, I ended up in this position, and had to will myself not to fall forward as the train blurred past just inches from my nose.

I boarded a train at last, and stood pressed up against the doors before getting to the tunnel outside Oxford Circus, where I've spent many a bored minute on my way to work (you often stop here while you wait for the previous train to leave the platform). The driver informed us that this was the case. We waited. The driver informed us that some of the doors on the next train would not close, and they were trying to fix the problem. For a second I thought - why not just go without the doors? - but then realised that probably wasn't very safe.

We waited. And waited a bit more. The driver of our train was very good and updated us regularly. Multiple official people were unable to close the doors, so the train had to be 'detrained'. Imagine an entire train, full to bursting with passengers, getting off at an already-full platform. This took a while. Finally the broken train moved off and our train was on its way again. There were now 'severe delays on the Victoria Line'. I was extremely glad I hadn't been able to get onto the previous train, as we went past all its former occupants on the Oxford Circus platform who couldn't fit onto our train, and probably not the next ten trains backed up behind us either (one a minute, remember).

On Friday night Disneyland Tax Girl, Disneyland Tax Guy and I went on a Jack the Ripper tour, visiting most of the scenes of the Jack the Ripper murders. It was extremely creepy listening to the guide in the old streets in the dusk and the rain, and imagining/trying not to imagine what it would have been like to live in Whitechapel, one of the worst slums of London, 120 years ago. I'm quite tempted to go and read up on Jack the Ripper now, but I think I might do it in daylight. Lots of fun, anyway.

Today was set aside by DTG as Shopping day, starting at Harrods and finishing in Oxford St. Harrods was impressive, as were the Saturday crowds, and we spent a few hours wandering around and staring at bags and shoes and confectionery and the building itself. We rode the Egyptian Escalator, which runs down the middle of the building in a shaft lined with Egyptian statues and carvings and paintings and mosaics.We admired the Gucci gumboots (wellingtons) and the great slabs of chocolate and fudge and the creme brulees and the caviar. I hadn't realised that you could, if so inclined, do your grocery shopping at Harrods, and I'm pretty sure I saw a girl who was doing so.

In other news, I now have a guitar. It is a mini guitar from the supermarket and I am dubious about its tuning, but it is a guitar and it is blue so I'm happy.

Have a good week!