Skip to main content

Transport-mageddon.


So, London Underground are striking. This, of course, means that all of London has ground to a halt. They're running VERY limited services on a few chosen lines, and the rest of us have to resort to using (as the BFG puts it) the Big Red Things. This means that instead of my usual comfortable, airy half hour of a commute, it took me a sweaty, cramped hour and ten minutes.

People have opted to stay home from work. They're using sick/holiday allotment so they don't have to face a tube-less London. Business are working at half capacity. The striking union members are set up with their flags outside padlocked stations, sitting comfortably in camp chairs with cigarettes and cups of tea. Outside my office window traffic winds past at a snail's pace, blaring horns venting the drivers' collective frustration.

What fascinates me is the general attitude of my fellow commuters. Some of them are bravely fighting on, calmly taking setbacks and delays on the chin with aplomb. Then there are ... the other ones. Wild eyed and vaguely frazzled, sweaty and wrestling with briefcases and suitcases, some even to the point of tears. Angry, frustrated, furious.

I can't say I empathise with the unions. I've been without a job, and I know people who are still in that position. These people have it pretty good, if you ask me. They have very fair wages and a generous benefits package. How they can justify asking for a raise in these economic times, and then when refused the raise hold London to hostage, is completely beyond me.

I realise none of the tube drivers are going to be reading this. I apologise for the slight rant, and will attempt to make the next post more palatable. Until then, perhaps I'll be on foot...

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Updates all around.

So, we've had our UK baby shower. Saturday just gone we had a houseful of people, same setup as our normal Thanksgiving arrangements, just different food. Rather than mash and mac'n'cheese, I did finger foods and pink desserts. If you need a seriously decadent and delicious lemon bar recipe, let me know, I found one on Pinterest a few weeks ago for Strawberry Lemonade Bars that I used for the party, and they are truly droolworthy. We were gifted a truly random assortment of bits. Some people used the list we registered for, some people went with gifts that meant something to them personally (like a replica of a childhood bunny from one particular friend), and some went with "pamper the mother-to-be" options. Then, of course, there was Darth Bunny. That's right, Darth Bunny. See below. It was a good day. Himself's best mate from childhood came up from Essex with his new wife to stay the weekend, there was at least one representative from every offic...

Thanks.

So, right now I should be baking four pies, a few dozen cookies, a carrot cake, and some dinner rolls. That's before prepping all the meat and veg for tomorrow's yearly Thanksgiving bash at ours. What am I doing instead? I'm watching my daughter throw puzzle pieces around the room and cast her eyes around for the next household item to destroy. And enjoying every second of it. It's not like we had a near-death experience last night, but a trip to A&E was close enough to suit me. She's totally fine, she just slept really fitfully, I realised she was burning up, and then she had a weird little episode where she wouldn't look at Himself or me which prompted me to jump in the shower with her, still in my pj's, trying to get her temp down. When that didn't work, the panicky mother in me had us all in the car on the way to the hospital. They checked her ears and throat (and the tongue depressor made her lose everything she'd eaten in the last ...

Life as we know it.

It's been a crazy couple of months. We found out that New Kid has junk, which Himself is very smug about. I got food poisoning for the second time this pregnancy on Easter Sunday, which lasted for a week instead of the usual few days. That's the fun of my body protecting New Kid instead of focusing on healing itself. By the end (after a night in the ER on IV fluids and anti-nausea meds) I wished he could have gotten a slight case just so he'd feel too bad to keep trying to kick his way out from the inside. Bratface spent that week hanging out with her Nannie (Himself's mum was here for the week, coincidentally) and then spent the next two weeks getting re-accustomed to rules and the world not always revolving around herself. She didn't appreciate the lesson. Himself turned 33 this week. We didn't do presents for him, the man wants for nothing save sleep (and short of resorting to Benadryl, Madam isn't helping with matters), so we made him a cake. I...