The Day Out

The day out consisted of a couple of hours in Chelmsford.  Not renown as a city of fame, in fact it is quite boring really, but I fancied a change and off I jolly well went.  The Cathedral, begun 800 years ago, is quite impressive inside.  Sadly it is on the Anglo-Catholic side of things, but it is very well done up.  Nice stained glass windows, a few interesting murals high up, a fabulous ceiling, interesting memorials and friendly staff.  The heavy wax from the prayer candles choked a bit however.  Not really how I see church but this one stores the Essex Bishop, whoever he is.  I always find an attraction in the steeple pictured against the bright blue sky, which never quite works for me.  I thought the old style light fitted in well anyway.  I would have liked to take a picture or two inside but felt that interfered with those prayer/meditating folks there.   Oh yes, and they had a door, indeed a door adorned by two of those heads.

This is a door, and one adorned by two of those head things.  A side door it may be but it does have two somewhat bashed heads.  Soub will point out why, but a 15 year old apprentice fixing things might be responsible I reckon.

  

The wrong way round but you get the er, picture.  Somewhat weather beaten angels I think. However this impressive piece was on the far end.

 

It is a contemporary rendition of Peter, with fishing boots, net, fish & key!  It's certainly noticeable.  (He should of course be called 'Cephas, as that is the name Jesus gave him, but the Greek version was 'Petras' and that stuck.  But you all know this.)  

Most of Chelmsford is to me just a pedestrianised High Street full of the usual shops, a shopping centre full of the usual shops, and a retail market with a variety of the usual stalls, including a butchers where I obtained a three pack of chicken bits for £5:99, a small fortune to me.  Shops are of course full of women, blocking the aisles, pushing folks aside, slowly cogitating on every other item they see, crowding into places like Marks & Spencers where the only men you see are being told by their women what they are buying, all shops are crowded, all very overpriced to me.  Even the Gift Aid Bookshop which drew me like a magnet was expensive.  While I am all for making a profit I am not paying £3:99 for a book, worthy as it may be when we all know most charity shops would charge £1 - £2:50 at most.  There is a huge price increase in such establishments as they go a wee bit upmarket.  While some such still stink of stuffy second hand clothes others are becoming very flash and while this may bring in cash I think it misses the point somehow.  The town itself however appears to be on the up.  Fewer charity shops near the centre, shops full and no Christmas goods that I noticed.  Good for them.  

    

There may well be other things of note worth pointing the camera at but all this walking through the hordes of wildebeest bumping into me every other step was very tiring.  Just wait till Christmas comes, imagine the crowds, buy now right enough!  I headed back for the train.  Just up from the stations stands this solid memorial to the thousands who fell in the Great War, many Essex men fell wastefully at Gallipoli, poor souls. 

Did I say train?  Oh yes, long time since we have had a picture of the railway.  This one was not mine by the way.  Our train was an older one.  The better class trains go past my stop.   Still memories of the old days were to be found here if one looks close.

The old water tank for steam engines and a dilapidated signal box.  Not used today I suspect.  Isn't that fabulous?  What, oh!  I forgot some of you are female......

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Dull Tuesday

The bright sun that enlivened the world has faded into gray, with added rain.  Quite how we survive in these appaling conditions I fail to understand.  People blessed with constant hot weather sometimes cry out for rain, pffft!  There is no pleasing some people!   This tree however appears pleased to have been here for some time, it reminds me of an Olive tree, surely it can't be, not here?  Judging by the trunks girth it has put on the weight since it first appeared, but how long ago I wonder?  Could it have grown from seeds left by the Roman chappies all those years ago?  Well no, there is a line of them carefully planted.  Are they really Olives or have I drunk too much coffee?

A combination of the lurgi and gray skies forced me to spend the day as a slob, much against my will!  The sleeps I had were purely for medicinal reasons and nothing else.  I fed my aches, looked for my brain and failed to find it, and read blogs that appeal.  I think they will appeal to your twisted intellects also.  Especially Robert's.  This man attempts to write short stories of a mere hundred or so words, and his mind 'meanders' into strange places he says, I think he is right in saying this.  It is worth browsing his blog for a moment.  I am convinced most people would wish to know more.  'Mulled Vine.'

The sight of large fat men and women showing how many pizzas they have stuffed into themselves through the winter has annoyed many of us.  I am quite happy to see thin female flesh in the park but recent days have found the cry "Cap'n Ahab! Thar she blows!" escape my lips just once too often.  Even Edinburgh with the perpetual Haar over the Forth and the gray skies desperate to blight the city has seen blue skies and sunshine I have heard.  This has brought out the chip supper and pizza lovers allowing the famous author Mike Smith to release his feelings on the subject.  This will win him much support, world wide I suspect.  Well not from fat folks.  I declare my interest in this in that I always keep my shirt on!  Read and enjoy 'Auld Reekie Rants.'

If however you wish to see the world in a new way you require a picture blog, of which there are billions!  There is one that gives a fresh eye on London that is always worth a look.  It's called 'Fresh Eye on London.'  Take a gander wontcha!

If however you are merely a man of culture and sophistication then I have discovered a site you dare not miss!  'Railscot.'  Men of culture and sophistication will love it!  

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Old Inn

I passed this intriguing building this morning but can discover little about its history.  It appears to have begun in the late 1600's and was converted to a pub in the early Victorian era, but exact dates are not clear.  I wonder if it began as an Inn and became a pub?  Or was it a house thus converted.  It was well situated for its purpose, lying on the North Road a short walk out of town travellers would be plentiful.  Just try to imagine a dusty well used lane, an occasional horse rider, a flock of sheep or cows heading to market, maybe even some kind of cart for the wealthy, people walking on their journey.  Difficult with such a vast array of bus, lorry and car traffic thundering past, small shopkeepers, Indian and Pizza takeaways and a mixed population today, very different from those long gone days of dusty roads.  An interesting frontage which surely must have been a house belonging to some well of bloke of his day.  It appears to be a well run public house today, whatever the history.  I couldn't afford to go in.....

A special shot for the rail commuters amongst us.  This is what that tin of sardines you endure morning and evening looks like after nine o' clock.  Those green things are called seats, you sit on them, although you may never actually get close enough to do even that I suspect.

  
And yes, as you have asked,  I did get a picture of this beast, a Class 47 as you will know, standing at the station awaiting developments.  Not sure what it is used for although there is often one parked up.  Overnight transport I guess for the E,S & W  goods stuff.  Innit luverly?


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Sunshine

A shot of village England from the train as we passed at high speed today.  A shot a second or so earlier would have given a slightly better view, however the big houses, the church, and the green represent the usual English village that tourists love.  Whether the pub remains open or whether actually living there is good is another matter.  The TV programmes often show folks looking for a small, quiet village to retire to.  They talk of community spirit, a local friendly pubs, and give the impression they can fit in anywhere.  Maybe so but do the villagers take to them I wonder?  Some folks live forty years in a village and are still reckoned as outsiders by those born there. I suspect if you have money and do not upset the routine you may be alright, but it could be too cosy for some.  Occasionally incomers are known to demand the church bell stops ringing as they came to the country for quiet, some even demand local chickens or cattle in fields are removed.  That is not how to endear oneself to the locals.  One or two houses are available however £6-900,000 would be required for the bigger ones, good luck!

While up town being browbeaten and nagged by Helen (Is there a school women attend where they learn to bully males?) concerning job searching, I noticed the river was deep, fast flowing and as you can see a bit murky.  This reflects the rainfall over the past month.  I noticed from the train the river had flooded in many places, on occasion filling ready made holes and flood basins, yet we know the rain is insufficient to find its way deep into the earth, to fill reservoirs or aid farmland in the long run.  Personally I think we have had enough, but I do not posses a garden, a crop nor a vast need for water.  The hosepipe ban continues but some would say there are still too many mains pipes leaking that water companies are too busy counting their profits to notice.  They may have a point.




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Another Day Out

The crops are beginning to show through now, as this pic taken from the speeding train shows.  The sweep of the fields always catch my eye, although it does not make for the greatest picture, especially when the sky is gray.  I listened to the messages Richard Branson and his MI6 friends give us secretly as we sped along, but mostly my attention was taken by the smartly dressed young lass who journeyed one stop only and the smell of disinfectant that came from an Asian man suffering a cold.  With my luck I suspect I will be a Man Flu disaster area soon.  Why do such people leave the house I ask?

The weeping willows appear to be bright intelligent trees.  If you must weep, weep into a river I say.  I did wonder about the drought at this point.  Farmers want water and here we have a full river, why not put it to use?  Rather than let it flow into the estuary use the water on the fields.  there must be a legal way of doing this?  No point in farmers, and ourselves, losing crops I say.

  

I am not keen on 'candid shots' of people, I see them as an intrusion, however I did wish a shot of this man's bike.  I would say it was somewhat overloaded myself, and the bag on the ground he had on his back!  Was he off camping?  is he one of the homeless?  Is this how he makes his living perhaps, a travel writer with an angle?  When I made my mammoth ride I had two saddlebags and as little as possible in them.  How much does he carry?  Is he a member of 3 para, stationed here, on his way home for Easter?  I found myself a little intrigued, but just looking at him and imagining the struggle up hill made me tired.  I climbed aboard the train and went home to bed.

The gratuitous train picture!  You all want to see one, admit it!  

  

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Underground Heritage

London Underground History

Jenny's excellent post regarding her outing along an old London Underground (but overground) disused line brought to mind the websites devoted to disused stations.  These stations are historical masterpieces, well sometimes, and always interesting to inspect.  Many overground lines have been turned into pathways much used for leisure purposes while some, if the remain recognisable, are derelict and much vandalised.  Two very good site on the underground are :

London Underground History

and

London's Abandoned Tube Stations

British Railways lost most of their stations and rural lines in the early sixties.  This means the vast rail network left behind a vast network of pathways, many now developed for leisure use, and ageing station buildings.  For some years rail enthusiasts, often called 'anoraks' round here, have photographed such places. These also are fascinating, especially for the nostalgic who once used them when steam was king!  Obviously only me then......

Check this out:

Disused Stations

and

Urban 75: Railways

You may also be sad enough, like me, to enjoy this:

Derelict London

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Chilly Dusk

A chilly dusk before four in the afternoon today.  How I long to be somewhere warm!  I was not made for this weather. The sun falling down on the job is the highlight of the day so far. Nothing else has happened. The news is full of grief and squabbling, and not the entertaining type.  No it is sadly just politicians, murders, crooks, attention seekers and nothing interesting whatsoever.  It is at times like these we need a good war to make the news interesting. There again the Scottish system of dealing with neds who attempt to avoid paying fares on the train is one that could be useful worldwide don't you think?

Now that was interesting!
Oh Look, a follow up here.

Daily Mail

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Public Transport

The sky was blue and the sun shone brightly as I trundled unwillingly down to the station this morning.  While I usually enjoy these little journeys into the big city it was a tired grumbling lump that joined the grumbling queue at the ticket desk. The usual cheery efficient member of staff passed me my tickets and called me "Sir," something I am not used to. As I approached the 12 coach train, a normal length at commuter time, I chose an empty compartment towards the front, and as I reached the door two men came from the small covered shelter to the side.  One moved to a door behind and the second followed me on. He murmured some words, as some people occasionally do, but I thought nothing of this grabbing the free 'Metro' that lay on a  seat intending to merely flick through it, and chose a filthy seat at the front. The coach was empty yet this man, muttering about seating, chose to sit on the other side opposite me, still talking. 


"Hmmm" I thought, "a talker," and suddenly became interested in the news I found in front of me.  Now some folks on trains share a few words as they settle into the journey and some choose to talk like an old women, this was one of they!  I remembered the hour long discussion of 'Uncle Joe's toe' on the bus that time and buried my head in the paper. Buried being the word as my glasses are meant for distance and not close up.  I pushed them to the end of my Romanesque nose and used my short sight to read the paper from three inches from the print.  I noticed my neighbour glare and turn to his (Paid for) paper.  I continued to remain absorbed in the adventures of glossily dressed female 'pop' singers, actors with well paid dentists, African 'spiritual healers' with 'POWER,' and women who wished me to call them at 35pence a minute (they say) for a friendly chat. I also then realised why the other fellow from the platform shelter entered by a different door!  Now in my world a train journey gives a great opportunity to see the world.  Trains not only give you countryside but also show you those backyards and hidden places normally missed during our lives and some of us like looking into the back end of industrial estates, peoples gardens and sometimes their windows! The view on some lines can be spectacular, on others merely interesting, so why do some folks insist on talking in very loud voices about last nights' "X" Factor' or Simon Callow show?  Do we really need to know about 'Uncle Joe's toe' while outside the sun shines, horses trot and the occasional sheep stares at the train as it passes.  (The horrid thought strikes me that some on my train may not know that sheep provide their Sunday lunch!)  But I digress. As we approached my station I concentrated on the football league divisions, all of them!  Crawley Town top League two at the moment, did you know?  As the train slowly, oh so slowly, round the bend I concentrated on the Welsh League, Llanelli doing well aint they? Soon we arrived and as I rose my talker glared at me again, I forgot to smile back.  Now I rarely object to sharing a few pleasantries, but an old woman man was not what I required today. Being friendly surely includes not talking too much as well as too little?  I felt a little guilty but I suspect he will soon have bored the pants of those who joined after I left.


Business done I returned to the station and headed home.  Sharing a friendly word with the bored guard at the entrance I noticed a train for Liverpool St standing there.  Would it stop at my stop I wondered?  As is typical on that strangely laid out station there was no screen at that point to find out, so I, along with several others, jumped on. Nowadays all trains play passenger announcements. A lass with a 'come on voice' will inform you, as if speaking into your ear that "The next stop will be Witham." With that town being the delightful London overspill that it is she might as well say "The next stop will be Kabul!"  As she gives you her 'come on' voice a message runs along the narrow indicator informing the deaf the name of the next stop.  All good information and a credit to the railway company! Naturally today this did not happen. No voice was heard and the scrolling message simply stated 'This train is for Liverpool St.' A cold thrill ran through me as I saw myself at Liverpool St station fifty minutes hence attempting to explain to several large National Express Gestapo officers my plight. However we did in fact stop at the usual stations and I relaxed.


I would have relaxed more but for the one thing worse than a talker, a ned with headphones!  The gentle hum of the modern train was accompanied by a 'shish shish shish,' from behind.  I look at my watch and wonder if I, or any other passenger, can avoid decapitating the cretin before the next stop.  I like music, I like loud music, but I do not like meaningless 'shish shish shish,' while observing the world pass me by (as it often does). Would you believe that two more young neds were found on the second train? Surely murder is acceptable in such circumstances?  I changed trains and hung about the platform for an age while awaiting the second journey.  The sky was blue, the wind chill factor high, but although my fingers began to freeze I enjoyed watching the trains pass by.  I loved the other recorded not so sexy voiced lassies announcement that "The train approaching platform 3 does not stop here," which begins as the train is already a third of the way up the platform at 80 miles an hour!  Which brings me to the notice. Those notices, small yellow things, which inform the reader to 'Keep back from platform edge,' and helpfully inform that "Passing trains cause air turbulence, Stand behind yellow line." Now at first sight this appears sensible, but as I read this the yellow line was behind me.  If I then stood behind it I would have found myself sitting on top of a 'Sealand' container and half way to Felixstowe!  Tsk, these signs need to explain the point better I say.  You would be disappointed if I was to end up on the 3:45 and be found half dead in Shanghai wouldn't you?  What...? oh!






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Lionel Walden

I came across this picture of Cardiff Docks by the American artist Lionel Walden  (1861-1933)the other day and am much impressed. I love realism in paint, especially when as bright as this, er... dank,  scene happens to be.  It is real life, full of action and contains a steam train!  What more could anyone ask for I wonder? Cardiff Docks themselves have declined with the years, although still in use much of the area has been regenerated and the 'Tiger Bay' reputation is not what it once was. Waldens pictures are worth a look!


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Friday Musings

These interesting houses were I read somewhere built by one of the Courtauld's for some of their (better) employees. Unfortunately I cannot find the link again and I am going on memory here. I believe they were built as late as 1926 and appear influenced by the 'Arts & Crafts Movement' begun by the middle class socialist William Morris.  They stand alone, backing on to the allotments that join the playing fields. I often wonder what they are like inside, although glancing at the windows brings scowls from the inhabitants I find, and the only disadvantage they have these days comes from the once large front garden now turned into car parking, and the tiny letterbox which annoys postmen!  Whether they are now on open sale or still tied by some agreement I cannot tell, and being broke don't really care, but I do think that if you make homes for your (better) employees you may as well make them attractive like the ones shown here.  

I saw this picture for the first time many years ago and took to it straight away.  The face of the woman, bored, depressed, or what stuck in my mind.  I just wanted to do something for her.  Who knows why this was painted, possibly it was a genuine situation the artist noted, at least it wasn't more young ballet dancers! The reality of the situation still impresses me, and reality is all that matters. 

During the high winds that crossed the centre of Scotland yesterday, causing no little destruction, flooding and turning over of vehicles, someone, I know not who, took this picture from the train while crossing the Forth Bridge. The Forth Road Bridge behind is deserted, closed because of the winds howling up the Forth from the west, and there in between the bridges we see a small boat cheerfully crossing the Forth in spite of it all. I wonder if this is an official boat, Police or Coastguard perhaps, whatever rather him than me in such weather!


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Now I am not one to Complain but,

So after the e-mails I phoned using my dying mobile phone. I ensured I charged the battery as I expected to listen to "Your call is important to us," several times before getting anywhere.  This indeed occurred and starting from being "Seventh" in the queue I soon moved up to "2nd," although I was beginning not to care when the man in Bangalore answered. We went through the whole thing again, he following his script well, and in due course sent me on to the 'Technical' people.  I can well understand a need for one to remove all the simple fault, check the connections, pay your bill etc, so I happily (ha!) waited as the music played.  What the music was I know not, the sound distorting on the phone, although it may have distorted over the ten thousand miles it was travelling of course. Eventually a lovely young Indian women cheerfully and pleasantly went through the script and tested the line.  "There is a fault on the line," she told me helpfully, and asked of she ought to call my mobile while she did what she had to do. I had informed her the battery would run out but happily (again) decided to wait the "two or three" minutes this would take.  On minute later the battery died!  She never called back, I fear to do so especially during the day, and I have now no idea if the thing will be fixed or not.  The staff were indeed friendly and efficient but I wondered how they cope with strong accents?  I speak clearly to such as they, my time in London taught me this when dealing with 'Foreign Johnny's,' but upset folks from Newcastle or Cornwall may not be so considerate!  At the moment the Internet works, but does collapse at busy times or stops for no reason, the phone remains dead.  Ah well another 24 hours may well explain it all, possibly. 

   BBC

As I type my spelling mistakes I am listening to the 'BBC Democracy Live' programme offering live debates from the UK House of Commons.  I like this site as it allows us to watch Parliament at work both in the House and in Commons Committees.  We are also offered the Scots Parliament, Welsh Assembly and the European Parliament (for what that's worth) and within a few minutes we can find live, or recorded, all our politicians lying in their teeth in every part of the nation and indeed in Europe!  This is indeed a find!  The debates never vary, the government defends, the opposition attempts to pick faults, the 'other side' is always in the wrong and facts are used to support any argument! The best occasions are when the House is almost empty and a Bill, of major or minor importance, is being debated by those with a particular interest in it. Often these can be knowledgeable or just plain funny!  The wit and friendliness of many debates are rarely reported however I find some better than the usual TV offerings. Others of course debate long and hard on Bills of major importance and very serious indeed.  Today we debate the NHS, "The other side was at fault." "Oh no it wasn't, you are."  Money amounts, in the millions, are quoted by both sides, but in the end we know the Tories will kill of the NHS if they can, and the 'other side' (Labour) want to save NHS costs also.  In the end we lose out as hospitals close, queues lengthen, and those office workers I once worked amongst still squander millions with no thought for patients anywhere!  What is the answer?  The Tories want to sell it, Labour keep it (Tony Blair would sell it also as he is well off!) but cut costs.  In short none of them know what to do!  In the end ideology, not facts, will tell.

Turner painted this in his 'impressionist style. Some tell me his paintings like this of the later part of his career are fabulous but I wonder?  I went to the gallery some years ago and saw many of his pictures 'live' and it appeared to my mind that in the end he had just got to much yellow and white paint delivered and didn't wish to waste it. As each was produced they became more or less white and yellow mixtures with added darker blobs. On a decent day I get similar experiences simply by removing my glasses.  This does not give me an 'impression' of the world around me it just leaves me falling over litter bins and park benches.  While I admired much of Turners work and I love the bright colours of such a painting I must wonder if it deserves the respect it receives, although much of that comes from fawning critics who don't wish to be different from the crowd. I would rather see the train, the sky, and the colours.  My twisted and perverse brain can accommodate these and supply a suitable impression when required. What say you?

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Gas

This pretty boring picture I took some years ago through a wire fence.  It shows one of the platforms at Granton Gas Works. These premises opened in 1902 and my aunt claims hr dad was driving the shunting engine there. This is likely as he was named as a Steam Engine Driver in the 1891 census.  By 1901 he was a 'general labourer,' possibly because of his drink habit.  If only we knew more about him!  This platform was a workers only halt into  the works  I wonder if a special train was in operation to bring them in on time? Certainly they booked in nearby and crossed the line via a bridge to enjoy a day shoveling coal.  The red brick used to such good effect was typical of a building of the day.  These days factories are so boring and functional but the Victorians built such quality even into factories.  Progress has led to plastic buildings and lack of character while in days of your the buildings had bags of character, although long hours and low wages were common. 


Gas was made from the coal, about 200,000 tones a year at Granton and this was heated by furnace underneath the 'retorts' with temperatures of around 1500 degrees. Gas was drawn off and cooled, cleaned of impurities such as oil and tar by ammoniacal solution. Afterwards the gas was washed by water leaving an ammoniacal liquor, this was made into sulphate of ammonia and used as fertiliser.  Further treatment removed lots of stuff I cannot spell and the gas completed the journey into the large gasholders from where it traveled to serve the city.  I well remember the gas sometimes containing an 'air pocket' and having to turn it off and starting again.  Gas taps in the science labs at school (science? aye right!) would cause the teachers to cry out when the air pocket was noticed.  An explosion could have destroyed the school, if only!  The coal waste became coke, and the smaller dross was turned into briquettes.  Nothing was wasted by this business.  The sixties however saw an end to coal gas and a massive transformation of cooking and other appliances as 'Natural Gas' was introduced.  The final end of gas at Granton came in 1987 and the buildings were soon headed for destruction. The rail lines possibly used by granddad have long gone and only the station building, now refurbished remains.  Granddad also went in 1917, he collapsed on his way home from the pub, aged 71.  Offices and housing now fill the redeveloped space once the home of rail, coke and coal, and nothing else remains bar the iron standings of the gas holder.  Even that is threatened.  


Progress takes away memories.  From our window, and much of Edinburgh, the gas holders stood out as we looked north. The sounds of the works, there were other works nearby plus the docks, would float through the dark silent evening air. One other factory nearby, 'The United Wire Works,' for whom my father spent several years slaving away, has also gone.  'Google Maps' show just a bricked up 'Works Entrance' and a large despoiled building and surroundings now.  Even the rough 'Anchor Bar' has gone!  Although there are those that claim that indeed is progress!  How strange that a building that stood for almost ninety years, and which was part of my childhood simply by it existing, has now gone, as indeed has sound 'floating on the night air,' the traffic drowns it out. The new developments may indeed be grand in the long term but it is not my Edinburgh any more.  The world moves on and our 'lives are only in our memory, the no longer exist.

Granton History

Railways 1946

21 mins long!

How to be an Idiot No. 86.

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The day was destined to be bad.  I woke sluggishly to the gentle sound of Gregorian chant, chased those monks away from my window, and headed of into a day of woe.  I felt a bit hebetudinous and went around making a mess of things. Failing to type correctly, putting the tea bag in the cup, then doing it again, and wondering why the world appeared a bit 'off,'  I then put my glasses on and the world returned to some sort of normality. Having to sign for my scrounging layabouts allowance today I had to ensure the paperwork was up to date, it was, somewhat.  I then sauntered around to the dole, wearing my jacket, and found my penthouse condominium fails once again to inform me of the weather outside. Inside it was chilly, outside it was very warm indeed.  Sweltering I scribbled something that once was my name and in the following short conversation I said things I regretted afterwards.  "What an idiot," I thought!  My big mouth!  I then went home, sweltering, hitting myself as I went.


This afternoon I went into the town again, see above 'Jumbo' the old water tower, now I believe converted into living quarters.  Naturally I was out the door into a higher temperature again wearing the jacket as I had forgotten the warmth.  I did notice one side effect was the lassies insistence on making the most of the years last few hot days by stripping off as much as possible.  If only I had taken one of those famous blue tablets the spam merchants are always offering!  The meeting, with yet another man who suggested what has already been attempted, went as well as could be expected. I made my way back to the station happy I had not made any more stupid remarks or done any foolish things.  The train journey was short and sweet and I happily changed for my connection.  A train stood on the platform and I glanced at the monitor informing me of the 'Liverpool St' Destination.  I did not however notice the time!  I sauntered past the waiting train and stood idly gazing down the track at the distant signals and fast disappearing train I had just left.  I mused on the Kestral high above circling around and around, scaring even the crows who rose to greet him.  I watched an attractive dark haired lass give me the "drop dead creep" look, I noticed a station operative (we used to call them porters) enter a locked room with a teenage lad and a police officer (he unlocked the room before entering before you ask).  The 'Beep Beep' sound came from the train.  The doors closed and I watched as it began the journey to London.  "Hello I thought, why is he reversing?" He was not reversing, he was my train and I had misread the times on the monitor!  I waited a full hour, in the heat, until the next train (full of London commuters) arrived.  

It's all becoming a bit of a circus actually

I am off to the 'Deed Poll Office' tomorrow to change my name to 'Dostoevsky Idiot,' as this seems to me to be more appropriate.  

There is a train down there somewhere with a few very irritated passengers.  I suspect the driver may well be a relative....


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What...?

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So once again I trailed into the big city today for a short meeting.  I intended to scout around and find one or tow pictures of the more exotic houses that can be found there.  However the bug that has been hanging around put me of.  However on the way back to the station there is this very busy roundabout and standing in the middle of it we find this creation.  Why is it there?  What does it represent?  Who bought this I ask? 


This is Colchester, the first 'town' in England they claim.  Famous for being burnt to the ground by Boudica because the Roman governor not only attempted to take over her lands after her husband died, he had been a friend to the Romans, but he also had her daughters raped and a little bit of murder and pillage went on.  He appeared not to realise that some women get a bit upset in those circumstances, and he probably did realise this when thousands took over the unprotected city and put him to the sword.  Naturally the Romans then put her and all around who sided with her to the sword also and then developed this place to their own advantage.  In fact much of their layout remains in use today.  


But this is a medieval knight, not a Roman soldier or an ancient Briton!  This is of course still a garrison town, the parachute regiment are based here when not trotting around Afghanistan being shot at. However no Para wears armour these days, at least not that type. What does it mean?  I was so concerned about this that I went for the train and forgot all about it.


I am indeed more interested in why this lovely vehicle was dumped here.

   
I noticed this before when I changed trains and wondered if this had been stolen and now lies vandalised in what once upon a time was the turntable for the steam engines. Mind you that might even be there under several decades of rot!  I suspect that someone inhabits this old van as there are enough passing dossers who would make use of this.  When new it must have cost a bomb, and the mobile hotel would have provided many holidays for the rich owner.  It could of course have belonged to one of the rich sportsmen who transport themselves to events for several days at a time and live within such a vehicle.  Even in this state it is still in better nick than my little bike.....

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Awwwww

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Another journey into the centre of the world this morning, and a chance to wander through the park also.  The river, as seen last week, is not sufficient for some it appears, dad, and mum round the corner, have taken the kids to the small boating lake, aimed at kids, and moved in there. The feeding must be good here, as long as you can endure the folks crying "Awwwwww" everytime they spot the kids (the fluffy ones not the brats). I did first attempt to get a shot of mum and one fluffy wee one but as I got near she shoved the kid into the water and made off. Actually I thought she was a Mallard but I now begin to wonder if she was something else as both were darker than these seen here. Anyway dad was playing with his feathers and still keeping an eye on me as I approached camera in hand.  He did not appear concerned and I got the pics.  I ought to have been down lower but was fearful the knees would give way and send me into the pond among much cheering from charitable folks around, so I took care.  

   


Between the river and the pond I found these, tank traps from the second world war. I know thee is an old pillbox nearby but did not have time to go looking for this.  The ground here has many long humps, some going back to Roman days and some connected with river works, this are was clearly an attempt t hinder any German aggression in 1940.  The river leads on to the sea eventually and one reason the Romans took over Camulodunon was the fact boats could come this far upriver with supplies.  The town, on the hill to the left, was the capital of the Trinovantes tribe and some of the earthworks were part of their defences. Such things, once required for war, are now kids playthings!

Oh yes and a sample of track for the enthusiasts among you. Ah trains, how lovely they are!  Of course they are better off without mobile phones, and I would like to take this opportunity to apologise the the lass who fell into the 'loop line' as we changed trains. It was an accident honest, but it did bring a smile to those of us who crowded you while YELLING AT THE TOP OF YOUR VOICE on the train.  It brought  smile to our faces if not to yours.  I hope you found your phone, if not try looking on the back of that container train, one chap said he saw it perched safely there.  Have a nice day, cause we will - now!  




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Buildings

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Yesterday, as I hurried along to the meeting place, I noticed this house, with the sun shining on it, and was impressed by the design, if indeed there was a deliberate design as opposed to a builder just 'throwing one up. Victorian builders just built houses according to the way they were taught, probably from their fathers, and rarely used architects.  This one looked better with the sun on it and today the gray skies left it a wee bit depressed with itself. However there are some interesting aspects to the building.
    

This corner house must have cost a packet in its day!  This home is quite large, has bay windows and a turret!  Fantastic property when built, and a credit to whoever erected the thing.  I suspect however this one had some kind of architect involved. This is much to 'out of the ordinary' for the everyday builder. 

I am contacting the Office of Fair Trading about this.  It says 'Free Withdrawals,' yet when I withdrew thousand of pounds from it the bank demanded I hand it back. Something about using your own account they yelled. It does not make that clear I say. 

Another lovely turret, this time on a school entrance.  Those Victorians, or would this be Edwardian perhaps, knew how to build schools. I could not get near enough to get a shot of the sign above the doors, 'Girls' over one, and 'Boys' over another. Actually I could see the 'Girls' sign but not the 'Boys' one.  Now I notice it is under the turret! The foolishness of insisting the sexes mix all the time is a bad thing in my opinion. At our school they kids played separately and this had many advantages for all. Ideology has damaged much in education. Some things boys learn better together, some things girls learn that way.
  

Look!  Another railway picture! Great isn't it?  Oh really, well that's your trouble, your just a woman!  Real men would see this as an inspiration, a challenge and an opportunity!  The line brings a train load of who knows what to us, while the other line takes us into a new life maybe, or possibly the buffers of course.  I have been there already!

Even better! High above, well not that high actually, stands the frame carrying the electric powerline for the trains. I thought it made an interesting image, with the steadily moving gray clouds as backdrop. The occasional blue flash, especially when the non stopping express service flew past at 80 or so miles an hour, was missed by my camera. 


What a lovely day again. Another day trip, another good half hour, another enjoyable train journey.  Even waiting was enjoyable today.  I suppose it was the variety from my routine that did that.  Now of course my routine is out of order and I will have to spend all tomorrow attempting to find where I am.  Ah well.
And so to bed......


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Railway Day Out, Sort Off

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As part of my job search I was forced to journey into the big town today. This entailed finding a suitable train timetable, they all have variations these days and the prices cannot be trusted also, and this morning bright and early, the day not myself, I wandered down to our bit of line. There in the sunshine I joined the late commuters, the London train left an hour ago, and soon climbed aboard the exciting journey that is a trip by rail!  I admit I would prefer a steam engine chuffing along through the countryside but such things are not common today.  Instead we had the usual diesel and while comfortable enough to do the job it neither 'chuffs' nor has the same romance. The 'romance' of the journey began with the train announcement scrolled across the screen above the door informing us where the train had 'arrived at.'  I thought if you have come here pal you have certainly not 'arrived!' Still it could be worse I suppose, it could say 'Arrived at Scunthorpe,' and we wouldn't want that would we? 


People on trains are the main problem with public transport.  If I could share the coach with nice people instead of ones I disliked life would be easier.  Having traveled on the commuter train on occasion I suspect many there feel the same.  These trains have been fitted with windows that open and one chap came in, took of his jacket, it was indeed a warm day, and opened the window above him and sat down.  How I hate this!  He opens the window for air, yet the air has no effect on him!  Instead it blows over to the other side of the coach freezing the people over there.  The only answer, apart from shooting him New York Police style, is to open the window above you and hope he gets chilblains!  I noticed all the windows were shut today in spite of the warmth and stuffiness around.  Maybe a cop had got on earlier as the train made its way out here?  


A substantial lass also joined us.  She immediately got the mobile phone out!  Now while mobile phones are indeed one of the many blessings we take for granted they are not an advantage on quiet railway coaches!  On this occasion the lady made a quick call, now that is a miracle, and replaced the villain in the bottom of her bag.  Quite why women do this I know not, but when it rings she then spend several minutes hunting for the brute while it plays 'Land of my fathers' in an annoying digital manner!  Some women use the mobile in the manner that once cigarettes were made use off, as some sort of protection while in public.  It is as if being occupied this way there is a barrier between them and the dangers around them.  Many pass my door pushing a pram with one hand, a toddler several feet behind them, on a  main road, while they blether into their phone. Others, male and female, can be seen in the dark evenings like some sort of firefly creature moving around. The person is not seen, just a greening glow from their phone while they read important texts.


Changing trains I took several pictures of the line, secretly as possible to avoid being mistaken for an anorak! This enabled me to obtain not only the above picture but two at angles of 35 degrees and late at my destination, one of the platform itself!  There is something about railways, and something about the view as the line disappears into the distance.  When younger I watched a drama, worth watching in those days, that ended with a young couple on a rail platform as he made his move elsewhere. The story I forget but I recall an longing to move on down that line to find what was at the other end.  Now however, having been there, I find the longing less strong but an underlying desire to go and see does remain.  This time I no longer expect a pot of gold to be found there. 


For a couple of hours I was reminded of things I knew long ago, informed of the wonderful aid to help me 'back to work' that exists, but without being informed as to where the jobs themselves lay, and spent a jolly nice time with reasonable people, in the circumstances.  One thing I noticed was the spaces prepared for around a dozen participants, three turned up and one phoned in sick, he fell down the stairs on the bus or some such.  The rest?  I suspect several will not be interested, one or two will have seen it all before, and then there was us three.  Are these organisations really going to find 'placements' in firms?  If so will this be 'cheap labour?'  Who knows?  It is worth it just for the day out in the sun, the train journey and a few pictures. It makes a change from my usual humdrum routine, and nice to see some interesting, but grubby, Victorian buildings there.  I am back tomorrow for a more serious discussion and I will get a couple of shots of the buildings which intrigue me.  Clearly there was money here in Victorian days. "Who pays the fares?"  They did, good eh?

 


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