On the day:
29/06/2012
On the way:
She steps onto the bus in an explosion of early Eighties colour: calf-high, electric pink socks to match the round, plastic, electric pink sunglasses, her jolly short shorts burgundy purple, more pink protrudes from under a purple sweatshirt. Her hair is built high into a pyramid at the front, at the back a short plait.
Kim Wilde tells me she can't take any more. I know how she feels. Wait a minute . . .
No, my BlackBerry claims it's still 2012.
Then the bus driver says: 'Roads? Where we're going we don't need roads...'
On the pod:
(You guessed it) View From A Bridge - Kim Wilde
On the front page:
Landslides cause rail line chaos (Metro)
Saturday 30 June 2012
Stairwell swarm
On the day:
28/06/2012
On the way:
There's a cacophony of voices clattering down the stairwell to the platform. Yakkata yakkata yakkata. Yakkata yakkata yakkata.
Like a plague of locusts visited upon the unsuspecting station batting wings and crashing into the wooden planks that panel the walls. Yakkata, yakkata, yakkata.
It really isn't that kind of station. Commuters come here in ones and twos. It's not convenient for school parties. Yakkata yakkata yakkata. The tourist trade orbits closer to the crowds. Yakkata yakkata yakkata. And clan outings to London involving several families usually leave later for the holiday matinees. Yakkata, yakkata, yakkata
The blood runs cold. The precious peace has been shattered, gone the tranquil trip to work, there'll be no 20-minute nap this morning, lulled by the regular rock and roll of wheels on the track. I've just got to get on the train before the swarm settles on every seat.Yakkata yakka...
The noise stops and one woman peers out onto the platform, turns, nods silently and emerges, dragging one suitcase on wheels, followed by one more woman, dragging one more suitcase on wheels.
Let's put it down to the echo in the stairwell, shall we. Maybe the wheels on the steps.
Or maybe it really is true that 20 minutes on the train are not enough to make up small hours spent surfing music video channels.
On the pod:
The Big Store - The Devils
On the front page:
Becks's Olympic dream is over (London Evening Standard)
28/06/2012
On the way:
There's a cacophony of voices clattering down the stairwell to the platform. Yakkata yakkata yakkata. Yakkata yakkata yakkata.
Like a plague of locusts visited upon the unsuspecting station batting wings and crashing into the wooden planks that panel the walls. Yakkata, yakkata, yakkata.
It really isn't that kind of station. Commuters come here in ones and twos. It's not convenient for school parties. Yakkata yakkata yakkata. The tourist trade orbits closer to the crowds. Yakkata yakkata yakkata. And clan outings to London involving several families usually leave later for the holiday matinees. Yakkata, yakkata, yakkata
The blood runs cold. The precious peace has been shattered, gone the tranquil trip to work, there'll be no 20-minute nap this morning, lulled by the regular rock and roll of wheels on the track. I've just got to get on the train before the swarm settles on every seat.Yakkata yakka...
The noise stops and one woman peers out onto the platform, turns, nods silently and emerges, dragging one suitcase on wheels, followed by one more woman, dragging one more suitcase on wheels.
Let's put it down to the echo in the stairwell, shall we. Maybe the wheels on the steps.
Or maybe it really is true that 20 minutes on the train are not enough to make up small hours spent surfing music video channels.
On the pod:
The Big Store - The Devils
On the front page:
Becks's Olympic dream is over (London Evening Standard)
Wednesday 27 June 2012
Drop the boy
On the day:
27/06/2012
On the way:
His blonde hair is cut short at the sides but swept up in the front and then back a neat quiff he got down to dry with a little touch of gel. His shirt is white and his jacket burgundy.
It's possible that it's a cardie, and there don't appear to be bottletops attached to his black shoes, but when you see that look, you keep asking the question. And what am I supposed to mention?
On the pod:
Coloured People - DC Talk
On the front page:
Zombie epidemic (Metro)
27/06/2012
On the way:
His blonde hair is cut short at the sides but swept up in the front and then back a neat quiff he got down to dry with a little touch of gel. His shirt is white and his jacket burgundy.
It's possible that it's a cardie, and there don't appear to be bottletops attached to his black shoes, but when you see that look, you keep asking the question. And what am I supposed to mention?
On the pod:
Coloured People - DC Talk
On the front page:
Zombie epidemic (Metro)
Tuesday 26 June 2012
One in vermillion
On the day:
26/06/2012
On the way:
In his navy suit and white shirt with vermillion stripes and matching tie (vermillion, not white), his black shoes with little tassels (we'll overlook the tassels, shall we), he's a bit overdressed for Wimbledon, not quite up to Ascot's strict standards, but on the station platform, he cuts quite a dash.
One would imagine.
Oblivious, he sinks his right hand deep, into his right trouser pocket to give his dadchange a good jingle. And gazes down the track where his train will appear, his thoughts his own.
On the pod:
Otherside - Red Hot Chilli Peppers
On the front page:
Fast-track justice for Olympics offenders (The Times)
26/06/2012
On the way:
In his navy suit and white shirt with vermillion stripes and matching tie (vermillion, not white), his black shoes with little tassels (we'll overlook the tassels, shall we), he's a bit overdressed for Wimbledon, not quite up to Ascot's strict standards, but on the station platform, he cuts quite a dash.
One would imagine.
Oblivious, he sinks his right hand deep, into his right trouser pocket to give his dadchange a good jingle. And gazes down the track where his train will appear, his thoughts his own.
On the pod:
Otherside - Red Hot Chilli Peppers
On the front page:
Fast-track justice for Olympics offenders (The Times)
Monday 25 June 2012
A broken read
On the day:
25/06/2012
On the way:
So there he sits, all James Dean quiff, chunky white headphones, mouse grey lapel jacket polo shirt, and trousers in the deep forest green (parsley sage rows, Mary and time). And he's reading.
Which is good. And far be it from me to cast judgement on anyone eldes choice of reading matter (but of course he suffers by comparison with the woman opposite who is reading A Game of Thrones). The issue is the way he goes about it - the front cover bent backwards across its shattered spine, flattened across the back cover.
For goodness's sake man, you're not reading a newspaper here. What do you think would happen to you if you treated a puppy like that? There should be an RSPC.
I can't look. I'm going to get off at the next stop...
On the pod:
Mykonos - Fleet Foxes
On the front page:
Minister in shock warning on more runways (London Evening Standard)
25/06/2012
On the way:
So there he sits, all James Dean quiff, chunky white headphones, mouse grey lapel jacket polo shirt, and trousers in the deep forest green (parsley sage rows, Mary and time). And he's reading.
Which is good. And far be it from me to cast judgement on anyone eldes choice of reading matter (but of course he suffers by comparison with the woman opposite who is reading A Game of Thrones). The issue is the way he goes about it - the front cover bent backwards across its shattered spine, flattened across the back cover.
For goodness's sake man, you're not reading a newspaper here. What do you think would happen to you if you treated a puppy like that? There should be an RSPC.
I can't look. I'm going to get off at the next stop...
On the pod:
Mykonos - Fleet Foxes
On the front page:
Minister in shock warning on more runways (London Evening Standard)
Crocodile shoes
On the day:
24/06/2012
On the way:
He runs for the bus. The kind of waddling run that might be employed by a penguin keen not to miss the best of a fish buffet on the opposite side of a particularly slippery ice floe.
His suit is black, his bag is black and a black hat covers his neatly cropped hair but not, needless to say, his neatly cropped beard (spot the clumsy construction to shoehorn in mention of the matching facial hair).
Sunday best, maybe. Even his socks are black. And his crocs.
Yep, crocs. How they would constitute smart Sunday wear is anyone's guess.
But at least they explain the penguin gait.
On the pod:
-- --
On the front page:
Argentina 'to disrupt' Olympics.
24/06/2012
On the way:
He runs for the bus. The kind of waddling run that might be employed by a penguin keen not to miss the best of a fish buffet on the opposite side of a particularly slippery ice floe.
His suit is black, his bag is black and a black hat covers his neatly cropped hair but not, needless to say, his neatly cropped beard (spot the clumsy construction to shoehorn in mention of the matching facial hair).
Sunday best, maybe. Even his socks are black. And his crocs.
Yep, crocs. How they would constitute smart Sunday wear is anyone's guess.
But at least they explain the penguin gait.
On the pod:
-- --
On the front page:
Argentina 'to disrupt' Olympics.
Saturday 23 June 2012
Born lippy
On the day:
23/06/2012
On the way:
You can't do anything with a single lip.
I mean rabbits have a harelip - that's effectively three lips, and it must work for them, considering the legendary amount of nookie they are reputed to enjoy - but it's not like they can use two of them for a snog while doing the dishes or refelting the roof of the garden shed with the spare one.
No, it would seem they have to operate in threes, like caballeros, kings of Orient-Are, and blind mice. It's a package deal, so to speak.
It's not that anyone in this carriage has a harelip, and I wouldn't want to make fun of anyone on such a sensitive point. Just saying.
On the pod:
Pack Up - Eliza Doolittle
On the front page:
Fears mount as Turkey threatens Syria over jet (The Times)
23/06/2012
On the way:
You can't do anything with a single lip.
I mean rabbits have a harelip - that's effectively three lips, and it must work for them, considering the legendary amount of nookie they are reputed to enjoy - but it's not like they can use two of them for a snog while doing the dishes or refelting the roof of the garden shed with the spare one.
No, it would seem they have to operate in threes, like caballeros, kings of Orient-Are, and blind mice. It's a package deal, so to speak.
It's not that anyone in this carriage has a harelip, and I wouldn't want to make fun of anyone on such a sensitive point. Just saying.
On the pod:
Pack Up - Eliza Doolittle
On the front page:
Fears mount as Turkey threatens Syria over jet (The Times)
Petropolypse now
On the day:
22/06/2012
On the way:
The Apocalypse has come.
Those four horsemen have ridden through, roughshod. War, Pestilence, Famine and... oh, the other one.
Once a hub of activity, a thriving petropolis, now it lies abandoned, a tarmac wasteland. Not a soul to be seen. The unthinkable has been thought and turned into word and, indeed, deed.
It's not as though there weren't warnings. The threats followed demands, and then the strike was launched. The rest is silence.
Almost.
Uncomprehending huddles stand under ineffectual bus shelters but the station is empty. Not a single deck to be seen, let alone the legion of doubles that routinely patrol this place.
Except for a 261 passing through, and who takes a 261? Certainly not me. Besides, its out of service.
The drivers have wasted no time with their industrial action. And it's a long walk home.
My kingdom for alternative transport. Even a horse. Left behind after the fourth rider - it's Death, that's who it is - popped his bony clogs...
On the pod:
Secret Messages - Electric Light Orchestra
On the front page:
Doctors and dentists: the taxman will see you now (The Times)
22/06/2012
On the way:
The Apocalypse has come.
Those four horsemen have ridden through, roughshod. War, Pestilence, Famine and... oh, the other one.
Once a hub of activity, a thriving petropolis, now it lies abandoned, a tarmac wasteland. Not a soul to be seen. The unthinkable has been thought and turned into word and, indeed, deed.
It's not as though there weren't warnings. The threats followed demands, and then the strike was launched. The rest is silence.
Almost.
Uncomprehending huddles stand under ineffectual bus shelters but the station is empty. Not a single deck to be seen, let alone the legion of doubles that routinely patrol this place.
Except for a 261 passing through, and who takes a 261? Certainly not me. Besides, its out of service.
The drivers have wasted no time with their industrial action. And it's a long walk home.
My kingdom for alternative transport. Even a horse. Left behind after the fourth rider - it's Death, that's who it is - popped his bony clogs...
On the pod:
Secret Messages - Electric Light Orchestra
On the front page:
Doctors and dentists: the taxman will see you now (The Times)
Wednesday 20 June 2012
Golden globes
On the day:
20/06/2012
On the way:
The goose is getting fat, it would appear. Which must make for very sweaty geese in this weather.
Colleagues have begun to report book-early-for-Christmas advertisements and there is evidence on the train.
Her airy shirt could be a post-modern leopard print with a spattering of sequins, her claws gold. Her well-developed lower mandible masticates implacably. And suspended from her earlobes, a pair of golden globes presumably pilfered from the Christmas decorations box.
That just seems more likely than that she selected them deliberately out of the wide range on offer at a jewellery store, and paid actual money for them with the intention of wearing them in public on a sunny June morning.
It's not that they are hideous, more that their timing could not have been much more inappropriate as pagan families come together to celebrate the summer solstice.
Oh, well, please put a penny in the old man's hat anyway. With just 164 shopping days to Christmas, he should be able to afford the fattest goose in the shop by December 25.
On the pod:
Dreams - Van Halen
On the front page:
Taxman v Take That
20/06/2012
On the way:
The goose is getting fat, it would appear. Which must make for very sweaty geese in this weather.
Colleagues have begun to report book-early-for-Christmas advertisements and there is evidence on the train.
Her airy shirt could be a post-modern leopard print with a spattering of sequins, her claws gold. Her well-developed lower mandible masticates implacably. And suspended from her earlobes, a pair of golden globes presumably pilfered from the Christmas decorations box.
That just seems more likely than that she selected them deliberately out of the wide range on offer at a jewellery store, and paid actual money for them with the intention of wearing them in public on a sunny June morning.
It's not that they are hideous, more that their timing could not have been much more inappropriate as pagan families come together to celebrate the summer solstice.
Oh, well, please put a penny in the old man's hat anyway. With just 164 shopping days to Christmas, he should be able to afford the fattest goose in the shop by December 25.
On the pod:
Dreams - Van Halen
On the front page:
Taxman v Take That
Monday 18 June 2012
Shaken, not shtirring
On the day:
18/06/2012
On the way:
He's trim, small boned - anything but the burly Bond of Dr No - but his eyebrows are cartoon Connery and his nose wouldn't look out of place snooping around a secret SPECTRE facility.
Occasionally his oversized tongue escapes, tasting the air as a reptile might, but mostly he lays his head back, at ease against the seat, eyes closed, and still, but for the rocking motion of the train, gently shaken but not stirring. And a constant chewing, presumeably of that huge tongue, to cause shuffishient damage ash to effect an appropriate shpeech impediment. Ash if the leviathan behind hish teth weren't enough. Nexsht shtop, Sheven Shishters, all shtashionsh to Shloane Shquare.
On the pod:
Jack And Diane - John Cougar
On the front page:
Stay of execution as Greeks vote for euro
18/06/2012
On the way:
He's trim, small boned - anything but the burly Bond of Dr No - but his eyebrows are cartoon Connery and his nose wouldn't look out of place snooping around a secret SPECTRE facility.
Occasionally his oversized tongue escapes, tasting the air as a reptile might, but mostly he lays his head back, at ease against the seat, eyes closed, and still, but for the rocking motion of the train, gently shaken but not stirring. And a constant chewing, presumeably of that huge tongue, to cause shuffishient damage ash to effect an appropriate shpeech impediment. Ash if the leviathan behind hish teth weren't enough. Nexsht shtop, Sheven Shishters, all shtashionsh to Shloane Shquare.
On the pod:
Jack And Diane - John Cougar
On the front page:
Stay of execution as Greeks vote for euro
Thursday 14 June 2012
Make Mine Marvel
On the day:
14/06/2012
On the way:
Amazing. Spider-man. On the train. I catch my breath under my Captain America T-shirt.
Let me clarify: I am not yet so deluded that I believe your friendly neighbourhood webhead has wallcrawled off the printed page, but it's not every day I see my kind of people, the Fearless Front Facers who proudly show their colours.
His mask hangs off the front of his skintight Lycra union suit, one foot resting on the big blue togbag in front of him, his arm relaxed up against the window. Spectacular.
Funny, though, he's much bigger in real life than he appears in the comics.
Its not just him, though. Right there next to his is the poison green and black of... Hey, who is that?
The arms end in jagged edged black gloves but there are also broad black horizontal lines across the torso, and the green below the thigh-high boot line ends in a huge pair of orange plastic peep-toe kitten-heel courts straining to contain a 6ft several man's feet. There's something very wrong here.
And opposite them is seated a man all in black, his identity picked out in grey, standard-issue Oriental brushstrokes and red detail. A ninja. Obviously.
Hmm. I'm starting to suspect this is not a gathering of the Merry Marvel Marching Society off to celebrate the Avengers Assemble movie.
Greenman picks up the blonde nylon wig in his lap and tries it on for size. No, this is a stag party, on its way up north, as it emerges. "When in Newcastle..." Spidey mysteriously proclaims, when Greenman inquires about the itinerary.
The conversation turns to matters macho: exploits in the gym, exploits out of the gym and the stag - what will be drunk, what will be eaten, who will be there, and the poor schmo who who won't be, who begged for an invitation, who the ninja strung along then let down at the last minute. Ha ha ha.
For all their jutting jawlines and puffed-up pecs, these are no superheroes.
I sit down and pull my coat closed over my T-shirt, the big bad Fearless Front Facer that I am. So far so Big Bang Theory.
I step off the train and set off on the long walk through the rain and the crowds to the office. I don't bother to button up - here no one notices you, no one to send you psychologically scurrying back to the days when a comic book habit was a matter of scorn, and when an unreconstructed jock was figure of fear.
Then, passing a colourful crocodile of kids, four or five years old, and a couple of cheerful teachers, I hear two words from a pair of boys at the back of the queue. "Captain America."
I turn. How can I help it?
"Captain America?" I ask, was that what he said? It's not that they'd seen the T-shirt, even though it was clearly visible. It's just the kind of stuff they talk about. Now these are my kind of people.
A teacher laughs, a generous laugh, and points.
And then a little girl near the front looks up, all big dark eyes, without raising her chin, and asks, "Are you Captain America?"
I walk on, no longer noticing the rain, like every other Peter Parker, every other Leonard Hofstadter before me.
Excelsior!
On the pod:
In The Blood -Better Than Ezra
On the front page:
Rebekah text to Cameron: We're in this together (London Evening Standard)
Soldiering on
On the day:
13/06/2012
On the way:
He marches stiff-legged from the back of the carriage, rumpled navy trousers that haven't felt the iron's warm caress. Nor, probably, has the white shirt under his tatty tweed jacket guarded by one lonely button.
One hand grips a pole for balance, the other hangs on to a white plastic bag proudly bearing a regimental museum logo, newspapers threatening to go AWOL from their overcrowded barracks.
His face is a raw shade of pink, like wiener sausages fresh from the boiling water, but his freckles still struggle through the skintone to be seen. His hair is an unruly thatch of greys and his mouth is twisted in an unchanging grimace - not threatening, it's all it can do.
And below the bulbous forehead, his small blue eyes are rolled upward, struggling to carry out a comprehensive recce of their surroundings.
There's dignity in his straight back, a broken military bearing. But no gentle hand to iron his trousers.
On the pod:
Union City Blue - Blondie
On the front page:
Olympics opening "is cruel to animals" (Metro)
13/06/2012
On the way:
He marches stiff-legged from the back of the carriage, rumpled navy trousers that haven't felt the iron's warm caress. Nor, probably, has the white shirt under his tatty tweed jacket guarded by one lonely button.
One hand grips a pole for balance, the other hangs on to a white plastic bag proudly bearing a regimental museum logo, newspapers threatening to go AWOL from their overcrowded barracks.
His face is a raw shade of pink, like wiener sausages fresh from the boiling water, but his freckles still struggle through the skintone to be seen. His hair is an unruly thatch of greys and his mouth is twisted in an unchanging grimace - not threatening, it's all it can do.
And below the bulbous forehead, his small blue eyes are rolled upward, struggling to carry out a comprehensive recce of their surroundings.
There's dignity in his straight back, a broken military bearing. But no gentle hand to iron his trousers.
On the pod:
Union City Blue - Blondie
On the front page:
Olympics opening "is cruel to animals" (Metro)
Tuesday 12 June 2012
True tears
On the day:
12/06/2012
On the way:
Tears on the bus. Usually just an irritation. Some brat who's not learned the meaning of "No".
Not its fault of course, when it has been taught the appropriate parental response to a tantrum is a handful of Haribo or a bag of corn starch jazzed up with MSG and tangoed with tartrazine.
Not this time. This mite's fingers were in the wrong place at the wrong time; when the window was snapped shut against the rain.
The weeping is unceasing, the whimpers inconsolable, a sound to shatter hearts of cold hard stone carried in the chests of commuters who believed they had heard every kind of howl children could inflict on public transport.
Life has delivered to her a new betrayal - pain, true and exquisite - and her fellow travellers feel it with her. They know there are many more to come, and there must have been a few in her brief past, but in years to come it may prove to be the first that remains with her for the rest of her days.
On the pod:
Slow (live) - Kylie Minogue
On the front page:
Gay laws "to halt" church weddings (Metro)
12/06/2012
On the way:
Tears on the bus. Usually just an irritation. Some brat who's not learned the meaning of "No".
Not its fault of course, when it has been taught the appropriate parental response to a tantrum is a handful of Haribo or a bag of corn starch jazzed up with MSG and tangoed with tartrazine.
Not this time. This mite's fingers were in the wrong place at the wrong time; when the window was snapped shut against the rain.
The weeping is unceasing, the whimpers inconsolable, a sound to shatter hearts of cold hard stone carried in the chests of commuters who believed they had heard every kind of howl children could inflict on public transport.
Life has delivered to her a new betrayal - pain, true and exquisite - and her fellow travellers feel it with her. They know there are many more to come, and there must have been a few in her brief past, but in years to come it may prove to be the first that remains with her for the rest of her days.
On the pod:
Slow (live) - Kylie Minogue
On the front page:
Gay laws "to halt" church weddings (Metro)
Saturday 9 June 2012
Whisky guffaw
On the day:
08/06/2012
On the way:
She stands to make her way to the exit before the bus has stopped, balancing a considerable bosom on substantial legs covered in brightly coloured faux velvet leggings, almost camouflage against the upholstery in deep blue with orange and red blobs.
One hand reaches out to steady her against the unpredictable swaying of the bus the other holds on to a small plastic bottle of orange juice. Too little, too late. She falls backwards onto a facing seat in a fluster of her loose jacket, long-strapped leather handbag and waves of hair that won't grow.
And unleashes an unstoppable guffaw.
"I drinkin' whisky," she laughs, cheerfully raising the perfectly innocent bottle of fruit juice in mock salute.
She gets to her feet and departs, leaving echoes of unbridled enthusiasm for life to carry into the morning.
On the pod:
Dublin Sky - Darren Hayes
On the front page:
As footie kicks off, bigwigs boycott Euros (The Sun)
08/06/2012
On the way:
She stands to make her way to the exit before the bus has stopped, balancing a considerable bosom on substantial legs covered in brightly coloured faux velvet leggings, almost camouflage against the upholstery in deep blue with orange and red blobs.
One hand reaches out to steady her against the unpredictable swaying of the bus the other holds on to a small plastic bottle of orange juice. Too little, too late. She falls backwards onto a facing seat in a fluster of her loose jacket, long-strapped leather handbag and waves of hair that won't grow.
And unleashes an unstoppable guffaw.
"I drinkin' whisky," she laughs, cheerfully raising the perfectly innocent bottle of fruit juice in mock salute.
She gets to her feet and departs, leaving echoes of unbridled enthusiasm for life to carry into the morning.
On the pod:
Dublin Sky - Darren Hayes
On the front page:
As footie kicks off, bigwigs boycott Euros (The Sun)
Thursday 7 June 2012
Cold comfort
On the day:
07/06/2012
On the way:
At the foot of the last rightangular turn of the stern stone stairs off the bridge, with their odour of industrial disinfectant and human urine, is nirvana on wheels.
The red truck is covered in brightly coloured images of ice creams - Mr Whippy is just the start of it - there's soft serve, Magnums, frozen fruity ices, there's even Ben and Jerry's black and white cow gazing benignly from the back.
And in the wide open welcome of the window is a generous counter offering any number of sweet treats including flakey chocolate sticks just begging to be plunged into a coiled tower of cool, creamy confection.
And behind the counter in a crisp white apron over a bright red T-shirt, a Whippy Wonka with the golden ticket to a wintry wonderland of cold comfort.
Sigh. Now that's what I call a transport of delight.
On the pod:
Worried About Ray - The Hoosiers
On the front page:
Owen plan offers vote on Britain in Europe (The Times)
07/06/2012
On the way:
At the foot of the last rightangular turn of the stern stone stairs off the bridge, with their odour of industrial disinfectant and human urine, is nirvana on wheels.
The red truck is covered in brightly coloured images of ice creams - Mr Whippy is just the start of it - there's soft serve, Magnums, frozen fruity ices, there's even Ben and Jerry's black and white cow gazing benignly from the back.
And in the wide open welcome of the window is a generous counter offering any number of sweet treats including flakey chocolate sticks just begging to be plunged into a coiled tower of cool, creamy confection.
And behind the counter in a crisp white apron over a bright red T-shirt, a Whippy Wonka with the golden ticket to a wintry wonderland of cold comfort.
Sigh. Now that's what I call a transport of delight.
On the pod:
Worried About Ray - The Hoosiers
On the front page:
Owen plan offers vote on Britain in Europe (The Times)
Wednesday 6 June 2012
The man of steal
On the day:
06/06/2012
On the way:
He slips on board unnoticed through the back door and stands still; still so as not to be noticed, at least not until the bus has departed and he can steal safely upstairs without having to pay his fare.
Not entirely still, though. While he waits his hand travels repeatedly, unthinkingly, between an open bag of Haribos and his open mouth, and his head swivels, glancing surreptitiously to his right out of the still-open door, to his left up the stairs, and ahead towards the back of the bus.
His loose grey shorts hang to below his knees, leaving skinny shins under a light dusting of black hair to link up with ankle socks and white tennis shoes. His hoodie is a familiar shade of blue and even more familiar is the red and yellow insignia on his chest. But he is betraying his colours.
Superman would walk on at the front, fish in his red undies for the requisite change, and pay his way like everyone else.
Or fly.
Yeah, he'd probably just fly.
On the pod:
June Afternoon - Roxette
On the front page:
"Thank you all" (The Times)
06/06/2012
On the way:
He slips on board unnoticed through the back door and stands still; still so as not to be noticed, at least not until the bus has departed and he can steal safely upstairs without having to pay his fare.
Not entirely still, though. While he waits his hand travels repeatedly, unthinkingly, between an open bag of Haribos and his open mouth, and his head swivels, glancing surreptitiously to his right out of the still-open door, to his left up the stairs, and ahead towards the back of the bus.
His loose grey shorts hang to below his knees, leaving skinny shins under a light dusting of black hair to link up with ankle socks and white tennis shoes. His hoodie is a familiar shade of blue and even more familiar is the red and yellow insignia on his chest. But he is betraying his colours.
Superman would walk on at the front, fish in his red undies for the requisite change, and pay his way like everyone else.
Or fly.
Yeah, he'd probably just fly.
On the pod:
June Afternoon - Roxette
On the front page:
"Thank you all" (The Times)
Tuesday 5 June 2012
The voyage home
On the day:
05/06/2012
On the way:
She's smaller than the yard of my uncle, yet larger than the pen of my aunt.
Actually, she may be larger than the yard of my uncle, depending on the uncle.
Either way, she's a beauty. Her wooden hull is shapely and painted in pitch to protect her from the elements on her long voyage, this other Argo, onto the icy swells of the North Sea or out into the Channel and then the Atlantic, set for southern climes. A sail in broad purple and white stripes hangs half furled from her sole mast, a bronze horse's head at her bow, a scimitar-shape rises from her stern above a terracotta amphora.
The high seas call like sirens on some blighted rock, beckon like mermaids from the briny deep. What adventures lie ahead? A Mediterranean Odyssey? A Vinland Voyage? A 7.34 from London Bridge?
On the pod:
Invincible - Pat Benatar
On the front page:
The party for one (The Times)
05/06/2012
On the way:
She's smaller than the yard of my uncle, yet larger than the pen of my aunt.
Actually, she may be larger than the yard of my uncle, depending on the uncle.
Either way, she's a beauty. Her wooden hull is shapely and painted in pitch to protect her from the elements on her long voyage, this other Argo, onto the icy swells of the North Sea or out into the Channel and then the Atlantic, set for southern climes. A sail in broad purple and white stripes hangs half furled from her sole mast, a bronze horse's head at her bow, a scimitar-shape rises from her stern above a terracotta amphora.
The high seas call like sirens on some blighted rock, beckon like mermaids from the briny deep. What adventures lie ahead? A Mediterranean Odyssey? A Vinland Voyage? A 7.34 from London Bridge?
On the pod:
Invincible - Pat Benatar
On the front page:
The party for one (The Times)
Bus-ness as usual
On the day:
04/06/2012
On the way:
There's Tower Bridge. Only yesterday it was at attention, saluting the Queens. The red, white and blue bunting's still out, unfamiliar pennants from around the world still spatter St Katharine Dock with Pollocks of colour and tall ships are at ease beyond the bridge. But the buses, they bustle, business as usual.
On the pod:
Two Divided By Zero - Pet Shop Boys
On the front page:
One million people celebrate the Queen's Great Diamond Jubilee Spectacle
04/06/2012
On the way:
There's Tower Bridge. Only yesterday it was at attention, saluting the Queens. The red, white and blue bunting's still out, unfamiliar pennants from around the world still spatter St Katharine Dock with Pollocks of colour and tall ships are at ease beyond the bridge. But the buses, they bustle, business as usual.
On the pod:
Two Divided By Zero - Pet Shop Boys
On the front page:
One million people celebrate the Queen's Great Diamond Jubilee Spectacle
Fresh start
On the day:
04/06/2012
On the way:
The bus whizzes through the sparse Monday morning traffic on streets sluiced clean by Sunday deluge.
It's equally peaceful on board. There's choice of seats and plenty of fresh air and no voices raised in a vicious circle of competition with previously raised voices and the groans of the traffic. The calm after the storm.
Thank you, your Maj (can we rhyme that with Raj? Just 'cos) for 60 years of unstinting service.
And thank you for a smooth commute to work on this Jubilee morning.
On the pod:
Blues Vir Louise - Piet Botha
On the front front page:
Her Royal navy
04/06/2012
On the way:
The bus whizzes through the sparse Monday morning traffic on streets sluiced clean by Sunday deluge.
It's equally peaceful on board. There's choice of seats and plenty of fresh air and no voices raised in a vicious circle of competition with previously raised voices and the groans of the traffic. The calm after the storm.
Thank you, your Maj (can we rhyme that with Raj? Just 'cos) for 60 years of unstinting service.
And thank you for a smooth commute to work on this Jubilee morning.
On the pod:
Blues Vir Louise - Piet Botha
On the front front page:
Her Royal navy
Saturday 2 June 2012
Giant public display
On the day:
01/06/2012
On the way:
Chestnut brown hair cascades onto an off-the-shoulder white T-shirt revealing young and lightly tanned skin and a conspicuous bra strap.
Draped heavily over that shoulder is a similarly healthily-hued arm, proceeding from a bright orange short sleeve ending in a black leather wrist band decorated with a series of colourful sigils, then a black glove sporting a self conscious swoosh, its resident hand hanging in a way that simultaneously communicates confident proprietorship and cool detachment.
And a baseball cap is visible (now and then as the head bearing it moves right and left, backward and forward in an unmistakeable pattern) bearing the optimistic Giants logo against more orange. That's all that can be seen. That's all that needs to be seen.
The curmudgeonly temptation is to suggest they get a room but does one want to encourage further exploration at their presumably tender age?
Besides, it's hardly constructive. We're on a morning train. Where are they going to find any room, let alone a room, on a morning train?
On the pod:
Heaven And Earth - Blitzen Trapper
On the front page:
Mercy for web porn boy who raped girl (Metro)
01/06/2012
On the way:
Chestnut brown hair cascades onto an off-the-shoulder white T-shirt revealing young and lightly tanned skin and a conspicuous bra strap.
Draped heavily over that shoulder is a similarly healthily-hued arm, proceeding from a bright orange short sleeve ending in a black leather wrist band decorated with a series of colourful sigils, then a black glove sporting a self conscious swoosh, its resident hand hanging in a way that simultaneously communicates confident proprietorship and cool detachment.
And a baseball cap is visible (now and then as the head bearing it moves right and left, backward and forward in an unmistakeable pattern) bearing the optimistic Giants logo against more orange. That's all that can be seen. That's all that needs to be seen.
The curmudgeonly temptation is to suggest they get a room but does one want to encourage further exploration at their presumably tender age?
Besides, it's hardly constructive. We're on a morning train. Where are they going to find any room, let alone a room, on a morning train?
On the pod:
Heaven And Earth - Blitzen Trapper
On the front page:
Mercy for web porn boy who raped girl (Metro)
Friday 1 June 2012
Out of time
On the day:
31/05/2012
On the way:
He's not one of us.
He's tall, lean, wearing a black suit (a selection of pens poking from his breast pocket), socks and shoes but his black tie is decorated with grey swirls and his shirt is orange - not plain orange but orange with a rigid pattern of floral circles picked out in a lighter orange, imperceptible intol he draws closer. But that's not it.
His face is also lean, a severe guillemot's beak for a nose, a bit grey, not quite cadaverous but he could quailfy as an apprentice undertaker on looks alone - a Hollywood undertaker with that blown-back dark grey coiffure, although the studios might require a dental investment. But that's not it.
The pigeons in the rafters fall silent as he passes. But that's not it either.
Nor is it the chunky plastic digital watch couriered back to the future in a pimped up performance car from the late Eighties. Where he's going, he doesn't need roads. Not him, he's got British Rail.
And a timetable. It's the train timetable. It says it all. Time and space.
What's he doing with a printed timetable in an era when you can get all the information on your phone.
And if he were from round these parts he would know to ask the network's most approachable station manager for any information.
And besides, everyone knows the three certainties of life in our age: death, taxes and the printed word is already out of date.
On the pod:
Twenty Four Hours - Athlete
On the front page:
The doctor won't see you now as strike is set (The Times)
31/05/2012
On the way:
He's not one of us.
He's tall, lean, wearing a black suit (a selection of pens poking from his breast pocket), socks and shoes but his black tie is decorated with grey swirls and his shirt is orange - not plain orange but orange with a rigid pattern of floral circles picked out in a lighter orange, imperceptible intol he draws closer. But that's not it.
His face is also lean, a severe guillemot's beak for a nose, a bit grey, not quite cadaverous but he could quailfy as an apprentice undertaker on looks alone - a Hollywood undertaker with that blown-back dark grey coiffure, although the studios might require a dental investment. But that's not it.
The pigeons in the rafters fall silent as he passes. But that's not it either.
Nor is it the chunky plastic digital watch couriered back to the future in a pimped up performance car from the late Eighties. Where he's going, he doesn't need roads. Not him, he's got British Rail.
And a timetable. It's the train timetable. It says it all. Time and space.
What's he doing with a printed timetable in an era when you can get all the information on your phone.
And if he were from round these parts he would know to ask the network's most approachable station manager for any information.
And besides, everyone knows the three certainties of life in our age: death, taxes and the printed word is already out of date.
On the pod:
Twenty Four Hours - Athlete
On the front page:
The doctor won't see you now as strike is set (The Times)
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