On the day:
31/07/2012
On the day:
The woman in the box - not the one at the station, the one on the bus - she's not alone.
There's someone in there with her, which must make it pretty crowded, especially when you reckon the bus on the box has got to be a lot smaller than the one on the station on account of the bus being a very lot smaller than the station, stands to reason.
Anyway, its only Boris Johnson, London mayor. And he's not a small man. But he's there to kindly warn us "folks" about how busy the public transport is "so getting around might be difficult" what with the 'vast number of events going on' around the Olympics.
Which is nice.
On the pod:
Fake Tales Of San Francisco - Arctic Monkeys
On the front page:
It's life, gym, but not as we know it (Metro)
Tuesday 31 July 2012
Monday 30 July 2012
Jigga who?
On the day:
30/07/2012
On the way:
OMH. It's only Jay-Z. Well, it looks like him. At my bus stop. But why? Why is he at my bus stop? Where are his homies and his pimped up ride? And why is he wearing a floaty navy blue trouser suit? Ninety-nine problems he may have, but wearing women's clothing on public transport on a Monday morning evidently ain't one.
On the pod:
Izzo/In The End - Jay Z and Linkin Park
On the front page:
We will fill the empty Olympic seats - Coe (The Times)
30/07/2012
On the way:
OMH. It's only Jay-Z. Well, it looks like him. At my bus stop. But why? Why is he at my bus stop? Where are his homies and his pimped up ride? And why is he wearing a floaty navy blue trouser suit? Ninety-nine problems he may have, but wearing women's clothing on public transport on a Monday morning evidently ain't one.
On the pod:
Izzo/In The End - Jay Z and Linkin Park
On the front page:
We will fill the empty Olympic seats - Coe (The Times)
Sunday 29 July 2012
Witch station?
On the day:
27/07/2012
On the way:
Black jeans, a grey and black hoodie, a black satchel, a tubby bespectacled young Asian man with the scrappy attempt at a beard shouldn't look out of place. But he is clearly on the wrong train if, as his T-shirt claims, he is looking for platform nine and three quarters and the Hogwarts Express.
"Nah mate, you'll be wanting the 8.53 to King Cross."
On the pod:
Swim - Surfer Blood
On the front page:
The world in one city (The Times)
27/07/2012
On the way:
Black jeans, a grey and black hoodie, a black satchel, a tubby bespectacled young Asian man with the scrappy attempt at a beard shouldn't look out of place. But he is clearly on the wrong train if, as his T-shirt claims, he is looking for platform nine and three quarters and the Hogwarts Express.
"Nah mate, you'll be wanting the 8.53 to King Cross."
On the pod:
Swim - Surfer Blood
On the front page:
The world in one city (The Times)
Penned in
On the day:
27/07/2012
On the way:
He is animated in his speech, chatting to the girl next to him; at least his head is, visible over the seats and heads in the bus, each movement enhanced by a shake of the dreadlocks, some falling free to his shoulders and some under control in an up-do, held in place by a blue ballpoint pen.
On the pod:
Michelle - The Beatles
On the front page:
Bond, Becks, Beatles, the Baked Bean... Brilliant! (The Sun)
27/07/2012
On the way:
He is animated in his speech, chatting to the girl next to him; at least his head is, visible over the seats and heads in the bus, each movement enhanced by a shake of the dreadlocks, some falling free to his shoulders and some under control in an up-do, held in place by a blue ballpoint pen.
On the pod:
Michelle - The Beatles
On the front page:
Bond, Becks, Beatles, the Baked Bean... Brilliant! (The Sun)
Thursday 26 July 2012
Aww spit
On the day:
26/07/2012
On the way:
Tall, he stands at the door of the train, standing aside politely for the flurries of hurried commuters to blow in before before it pulls away. That's the stiffest kind of breeze that can be expected on a sunny morning like this.
His tight curls are thinning on top, his nose is delicately boned, finishing in a beginners' slope ski jump, eyes gently hooded, his stubble immaculately cropped.
His is a simple elegance, something of the Thierry Henry about him, in his day a classy ambassador for a classy football club, as he carefully folds down his blue and white checked cotton shirtsleeves. His dark blue jeans are pressed and hang neatly down long legs.
His cuffs secured with their white buttons, he pulls on his navy blue cap with its red band at the back - oh, and there's a coincidence, the word Arsenal is printed above its peak.
He turns out towards the clear blue sky, it's a good day to be alive.
And spits onto the platform.
On the pod:
Sweet Talking Woman - Electric Light Orchestra
On the front page:
Cameron asks the world to invest in Britain
26/07/2012
On the way:
Tall, he stands at the door of the train, standing aside politely for the flurries of hurried commuters to blow in before before it pulls away. That's the stiffest kind of breeze that can be expected on a sunny morning like this.
His tight curls are thinning on top, his nose is delicately boned, finishing in a beginners' slope ski jump, eyes gently hooded, his stubble immaculately cropped.
His is a simple elegance, something of the Thierry Henry about him, in his day a classy ambassador for a classy football club, as he carefully folds down his blue and white checked cotton shirtsleeves. His dark blue jeans are pressed and hang neatly down long legs.
His cuffs secured with their white buttons, he pulls on his navy blue cap with its red band at the back - oh, and there's a coincidence, the word Arsenal is printed above its peak.
He turns out towards the clear blue sky, it's a good day to be alive.
And spits onto the platform.
On the pod:
Sweet Talking Woman - Electric Light Orchestra
On the front page:
Cameron asks the world to invest in Britain
Wednesday 25 July 2012
Danger on the dotted line
On the day:
25/07/2012
On the way:
He's little more than a boy in his smart black suit, clean white shirt, shiny blue tie and neat haircut. But the blood runs cold. Fight or flight.
What menace lurks in his yellow plastic folder? What does he want me to sign up for? A subscription to The Watchtower? A high-interest, instant-access, cash-in-your-hand loan? A Spanish hedge-fund investment scheme? A billion-year commitment to the Church of Scientology?
No my young friend, not even if you can channel Cruise-grade megawatts through that unassuming little white smile of yours.
That's right, find yourself a quiet corner of the bus where you can do no harm.
Okay folks, return to your seats. Danger over. Crisis averted. Nothing to see here.
On the pod:
Standing On The Shore - Empire Of The Sun
On the front page:
Eight face hacking charges (The Times)
25/07/2012
On the way:
He's little more than a boy in his smart black suit, clean white shirt, shiny blue tie and neat haircut. But the blood runs cold. Fight or flight.
What menace lurks in his yellow plastic folder? What does he want me to sign up for? A subscription to The Watchtower? A high-interest, instant-access, cash-in-your-hand loan? A Spanish hedge-fund investment scheme? A billion-year commitment to the Church of Scientology?
No my young friend, not even if you can channel Cruise-grade megawatts through that unassuming little white smile of yours.
That's right, find yourself a quiet corner of the bus where you can do no harm.
Okay folks, return to your seats. Danger over. Crisis averted. Nothing to see here.
On the pod:
Standing On The Shore - Empire Of The Sun
On the front page:
Eight face hacking charges (The Times)
...booze intrudes
On the day:
24/07/2012
On the way:
His grey T-shirt proclaims him an Independent reader. His reddish-brown leather baseball cap proclaims him a Land Rover driver. The can in the right inside picket of his black and white jacket, worn on a busy bus in 28-degree, mid-morning heat proclaims him a Fosters drinker.
One such claim has a ring of truth about it. The other two? Not so sure.
One such claim will be proved true. The other two? Still not so sure.
Anyhow, when the moment comes to offer one's seat to a the lanky Asian boy with the diffident pose and the winning smile so he can sit next to the girl with whom he boarded the bus, the leathery-faced Caucasian fellow with the beery smile gratefully misunderstands, and drags his big green shopping bag over to sit opposite the embarrassed young lady.
Finally her sweetheart overcomes his diffidence and shifts over to her side. To her relief and her delight.
The old fellow bares his browning teeth, retrieves the already-open can from his pocket, takes a satisfying swig, and carefully replaces it. He's got his beer, he's got the sunshine and he's got a window seat. He's i no hurry.
On the pod:
A New England - Kirsty MacColl
On the front page:
Fury over Syria's threat to use chemical weapons (The Times)
24/07/2012
On the way:
His grey T-shirt proclaims him an Independent reader. His reddish-brown leather baseball cap proclaims him a Land Rover driver. The can in the right inside picket of his black and white jacket, worn on a busy bus in 28-degree, mid-morning heat proclaims him a Fosters drinker.
One such claim has a ring of truth about it. The other two? Not so sure.
One such claim will be proved true. The other two? Still not so sure.
Anyhow, when the moment comes to offer one's seat to a the lanky Asian boy with the diffident pose and the winning smile so he can sit next to the girl with whom he boarded the bus, the leathery-faced Caucasian fellow with the beery smile gratefully misunderstands, and drags his big green shopping bag over to sit opposite the embarrassed young lady.
Finally her sweetheart overcomes his diffidence and shifts over to her side. To her relief and her delight.
The old fellow bares his browning teeth, retrieves the already-open can from his pocket, takes a satisfying swig, and carefully replaces it. He's got his beer, he's got the sunshine and he's got a window seat. He's i no hurry.
On the pod:
A New England - Kirsty MacColl
On the front page:
Fury over Syria's threat to use chemical weapons (The Times)
Tuesday 24 July 2012
Goodness exudes...
On the day:
24/07/2012
On the way:
Her silver bangles jingle as she greets one person, a second and a third. Her black trousers are loose and a little floaty, like her long black shirt, falling to her thighs, its hems embellished with a double row of pearly beads, then a repeated floral motif in the same beads.
She could be dressed for church.
She could be the minister.
Goodness exudes. It makes you want to do a good deed. Such as giving up your seat so the lanky Asian boy with the diffident pose and shy, winning smile can sit next to the girl with whom he boarded the bus.
But that's another story.
On the pod:
Born To Be Sold - Transvision Vamp
On the front page:
Batman killer unmasked in front of his victims (The Times)
24/07/2012
On the way:
Her silver bangles jingle as she greets one person, a second and a third. Her black trousers are loose and a little floaty, like her long black shirt, falling to her thighs, its hems embellished with a double row of pearly beads, then a repeated floral motif in the same beads.
She could be dressed for church.
She could be the minister.
Goodness exudes. It makes you want to do a good deed. Such as giving up your seat so the lanky Asian boy with the diffident pose and shy, winning smile can sit next to the girl with whom he boarded the bus.
But that's another story.
On the pod:
Born To Be Sold - Transvision Vamp
On the front page:
Batman killer unmasked in front of his victims (The Times)
Monday 23 July 2012
Sunshine reggae
On the day:
23/07/2012
On the way:
It's hot on the street and the pavements are burning.
She walks in time to music no one else can hear, her dip-dyed dreads jiggling in Jamaican colours - green on the left, yellow in the middle, red on the right. It's as though she brings the sunshine. All the way from the Caribbean along with the fastest men in the world.
If they aren't already in town, they will be soon - the greatest show on earth is just days away. She wears her allegiance in her locks. And if further proof of were needed, there's the yellow shirt proclaiming, "Jamaican Superheroes".
Ten hours later and she's on the same bus again. The sun's gone down but she's still shimmering, still shimmying.
"I saw you this morning," I say. "You brought the sunshine."
"That's my name," she beams, "Sunshine." And if further proof were needed, she smiles again.
On the pod:
By My Side - Be
On the front page:
Taxman to name and shame avoiders (The Times)
23/07/2012
On the way:
It's hot on the street and the pavements are burning.
She walks in time to music no one else can hear, her dip-dyed dreads jiggling in Jamaican colours - green on the left, yellow in the middle, red on the right. It's as though she brings the sunshine. All the way from the Caribbean along with the fastest men in the world.
If they aren't already in town, they will be soon - the greatest show on earth is just days away. She wears her allegiance in her locks. And if further proof of were needed, there's the yellow shirt proclaiming, "Jamaican Superheroes".
Ten hours later and she's on the same bus again. The sun's gone down but she's still shimmering, still shimmying.
"I saw you this morning," I say. "You brought the sunshine."
"That's my name," she beams, "Sunshine." And if further proof were needed, she smiles again.
On the pod:
By My Side - Be
On the front page:
Taxman to name and shame avoiders (The Times)
Thursday 19 July 2012
Pilot episode
On the day:
19/07/2012
On the way:
"HEAVY METAL CONSTRUCTION" roars his T-shirt. "Road Work 500 FT." A yellow digger truck rolls into action (does he not know what those things can do when they go rogue?) on an orange wasteland.
Pre-faded jeans ("Best Creation," they yell, orangely) suggest hard-wearing, hard-working gear.
But you can bet it's going to be dad, with a roughly applied red caste mark between his greying eyebrows, dressed in a placid, blue cotton, short-sleeved shirt and grey-green trousers, who will be doing the construction on the working model helicopter in the blue plastic bag.
Even if flying it to 500 feet is an ambitious goal.
On the pod:
Put Down That Weapon - Midnight Oil
On the front page:
Pill to save 200,000 lives a year (Metro)
On the subject: http://andhisthoughtsarefullofstrangers.blogspot.co.uk/2012/07/long-arm-of.html
19/07/2012
On the way:
"HEAVY METAL CONSTRUCTION" roars his T-shirt. "Road Work 500 FT." A yellow digger truck rolls into action (does he not know what those things can do when they go rogue?) on an orange wasteland.
Pre-faded jeans ("Best Creation," they yell, orangely) suggest hard-wearing, hard-working gear.
But you can bet it's going to be dad, with a roughly applied red caste mark between his greying eyebrows, dressed in a placid, blue cotton, short-sleeved shirt and grey-green trousers, who will be doing the construction on the working model helicopter in the blue plastic bag.
Even if flying it to 500 feet is an ambitious goal.
On the pod:
Put Down That Weapon - Midnight Oil
On the front page:
Pill to save 200,000 lives a year (Metro)
On the subject: http://andhisthoughtsarefullofstrangers.blogspot.co.uk/2012/07/long-arm-of.html
Wednesday 18 July 2012
Tracked down
On the day:
18/07/2012
On the way:
All of a sudden she's there on the platform. Gorgeous, classy, beautiful poise and a distinctive dalmatian coat.
Her tongue lolls out of a toothy grin and her tail wags proudly as she looks up at the trim woman with the boyish deep red cropped hair. 'See, Mum, I found you!'
'Omigod, Maya!' Mum exclaims, gathers her bags and leads her child back up the stairs to discover where dad and the other dog have got to.
As her train rolls in.
On the pod:
Hannah Jane - Hootie and the Blowfish
On the front page:
HSBC was used to 'clean drugs money'
18/07/2012
On the way:
All of a sudden she's there on the platform. Gorgeous, classy, beautiful poise and a distinctive dalmatian coat.
Her tongue lolls out of a toothy grin and her tail wags proudly as she looks up at the trim woman with the boyish deep red cropped hair. 'See, Mum, I found you!'
'Omigod, Maya!' Mum exclaims, gathers her bags and leads her child back up the stairs to discover where dad and the other dog have got to.
As her train rolls in.
On the pod:
Hannah Jane - Hootie and the Blowfish
On the front page:
HSBC was used to 'clean drugs money'
Tuesday 17 July 2012
Financial vehicle
On the day:
17/07/2012
On the way:
The van is somewhere between brown and grey - hello visibility, especially in a grand old city of somewhere between brown and grey - except for the letters on the front in muddy orange: A, M, B, U, L, A, N, C, E. Not even E, C, N, A, L, U, B, M, A.
Now that looks like the classic business strategy of creating your market so you can service it.
The driver takes a left without so much as a wink from from an indicator.
Five dragons uncoil, the glint of gold in their reptilian eyes. They hiss with one voice, the sound of brass scraping on brass.
'I'm in.'
On the pod:
Twenty Four Hours (Live from London) - Athlete
On the front page:
Coalition support plunges as grim economic news piles up
17/07/2012
On the way:
The van is somewhere between brown and grey - hello visibility, especially in a grand old city of somewhere between brown and grey - except for the letters on the front in muddy orange: A, M, B, U, L, A, N, C, E. Not even E, C, N, A, L, U, B, M, A.
Now that looks like the classic business strategy of creating your market so you can service it.
The driver takes a left without so much as a wink from from an indicator.
Five dragons uncoil, the glint of gold in their reptilian eyes. They hiss with one voice, the sound of brass scraping on brass.
'I'm in.'
On the pod:
Twenty Four Hours (Live from London) - Athlete
On the front page:
Coalition support plunges as grim economic news piles up
Monday 16 July 2012
Smoke without ire
On the day:
16/07/2012
On the way:
Is that a duck call?
The guy is all in black, from the buttons on his plastic jacket to the laces in his chunky leather shoes (except for the logo on his black satchel). Even the implement between his pouty pink lips is black, with some silver bands.
If its a duck call, its not a particularly effective one. Or its user is not a master of his craft.
And besides, most ducks of whose acquaintance I have had the pleasure, have had the good sense to avoid bus stops during rush hour.
But it's not a duck call, is it? Not unless ducks have learned to read smoke signals. Because puffs of smoke are leaking out of the corners of the dude's, let's face it, duck pout.
It's not deeply pungent, not pipe tobacco, not weed. Some sort of cigarette substitute, then? Whatever, it evidently does the job, as he let's loose another cloud of satisfaction.
And when the bus arrives, does it fall to the ground to be stamped out and abandoned for someone else to deal with (the Surgeon General has determined that smoking patently degrades the brain cells in even otherwise intelligent and considerate human beings)?
No sir. No indeed it does not fall to the ground. It disappears, perhaps into that little pouch that has materialised in his left hand - black of course. And onto the bus he steps.
A stub-free smoker. That's a small step towards sensible.
Still not as sensible as your average duck, nor as considerate, but indubitably a waddle in the right direction.
On the pod:
Marblehead Johnson - The Bluetones
On the front page:
London booms to 8 million people (London Evening Standard)
16/07/2012
On the way:
Is that a duck call?
The guy is all in black, from the buttons on his plastic jacket to the laces in his chunky leather shoes (except for the logo on his black satchel). Even the implement between his pouty pink lips is black, with some silver bands.
If its a duck call, its not a particularly effective one. Or its user is not a master of his craft.
And besides, most ducks of whose acquaintance I have had the pleasure, have had the good sense to avoid bus stops during rush hour.
But it's not a duck call, is it? Not unless ducks have learned to read smoke signals. Because puffs of smoke are leaking out of the corners of the dude's, let's face it, duck pout.
It's not deeply pungent, not pipe tobacco, not weed. Some sort of cigarette substitute, then? Whatever, it evidently does the job, as he let's loose another cloud of satisfaction.
And when the bus arrives, does it fall to the ground to be stamped out and abandoned for someone else to deal with (the Surgeon General has determined that smoking patently degrades the brain cells in even otherwise intelligent and considerate human beings)?
No sir. No indeed it does not fall to the ground. It disappears, perhaps into that little pouch that has materialised in his left hand - black of course. And onto the bus he steps.
A stub-free smoker. That's a small step towards sensible.
Still not as sensible as your average duck, nor as considerate, but indubitably a waddle in the right direction.
On the pod:
Marblehead Johnson - The Bluetones
On the front page:
London booms to 8 million people (London Evening Standard)
Sunday 15 July 2012
Something rotten
On the day:
14/07/2012
On the way:
She looks confused, but maybe she just can't choose: does she turn around and find a seat near the front or does she attempt the steps into the back section. Perhaps her circular spectacles contribute to that impression, the spectacles and the fuzzy hair that sticks out a a slightly surprised trajectory from her head - not long, just slightly surprised.
She is enveloped by an olive green parka, on this sunny morning, the cuffs of a grey-brown jersey protruding from its sleeves and her trousers are faded navy tracksuiting, its rash of bobbles confirming their age, her black shoes oversized and sockless, and she carries a battered bag-for-life which has clearly put in the hard labour for which it was designed.
She chooses the back of the bus and sits heavily, although not as heavily as her voluminous coat may have suggested. And with her comes the stench.
And goes, and comes, and goes. Indescribable - not sweaty, not fecal. From where, it's hard to say. The bag? The parka? It returns in waves, when she shifts, and when she stands to go.
She walks out into the morning carrying a weight that is not to be found beneath her parka.
On the pod:
The Edge Of America - Duran Duran
On the front page:
Billionaire held over wife murder
14/07/2012
On the way:
She looks confused, but maybe she just can't choose: does she turn around and find a seat near the front or does she attempt the steps into the back section. Perhaps her circular spectacles contribute to that impression, the spectacles and the fuzzy hair that sticks out a a slightly surprised trajectory from her head - not long, just slightly surprised.
She is enveloped by an olive green parka, on this sunny morning, the cuffs of a grey-brown jersey protruding from its sleeves and her trousers are faded navy tracksuiting, its rash of bobbles confirming their age, her black shoes oversized and sockless, and she carries a battered bag-for-life which has clearly put in the hard labour for which it was designed.
She chooses the back of the bus and sits heavily, although not as heavily as her voluminous coat may have suggested. And with her comes the stench.
And goes, and comes, and goes. Indescribable - not sweaty, not fecal. From where, it's hard to say. The bag? The parka? It returns in waves, when she shifts, and when she stands to go.
She walks out into the morning carrying a weight that is not to be found beneath her parka.
On the pod:
The Edge Of America - Duran Duran
On the front page:
Billionaire held over wife murder
Saturday 14 July 2012
Agents of entropy
On the day:
13/07/2012
On the way:
The red brick walls, now blackened with soot, greened with moss, and scrawled with unintelligible graffiti tags, rise up on either side at the north end of the platform, spanned by girders that support the road above. Beyond the bridge, the track curves off to the right. It's there they stand.
Three figures in orange overalls. Always in threes. Usually, anyway.
One has his overalls stripped to the waist, it arms tied at the front like a schoolboy's jumper. Two of them are wearing white safety helmets. The other has his hanging loosely from the fingers of his right hand, the other arm resting on an ominous implement of iron.
They've each got one - tools of the trade. That trade is disruption.
Don't be fooled. They're not there to fix the track. The track is not broken - trains have been skipping blithely up and down this railway line without a care since 6am without so much as a skinned knee or a stubbed toe.
But soon it will be broken. For these three man are agents of entropy, employees of the Department of Urban Disruption.
You will see them at roadworks, on scaffolding and yes, on train tracks all over the city. Always in threes. Well, usually.
I am just glad my train will be coming before they get to work. It should do. It's due to.
Come on train.
On the pod:
Wicked Wonder - Arapaho
On the front page:
Avalanche sweeps nine to their deaths on Cursed Mountain
13/07/2012
On the way:
The red brick walls, now blackened with soot, greened with moss, and scrawled with unintelligible graffiti tags, rise up on either side at the north end of the platform, spanned by girders that support the road above. Beyond the bridge, the track curves off to the right. It's there they stand.
Three figures in orange overalls. Always in threes. Usually, anyway.
One has his overalls stripped to the waist, it arms tied at the front like a schoolboy's jumper. Two of them are wearing white safety helmets. The other has his hanging loosely from the fingers of his right hand, the other arm resting on an ominous implement of iron.
They've each got one - tools of the trade. That trade is disruption.
Don't be fooled. They're not there to fix the track. The track is not broken - trains have been skipping blithely up and down this railway line without a care since 6am without so much as a skinned knee or a stubbed toe.
But soon it will be broken. For these three man are agents of entropy, employees of the Department of Urban Disruption.
You will see them at roadworks, on scaffolding and yes, on train tracks all over the city. Always in threes. Well, usually.
I am just glad my train will be coming before they get to work. It should do. It's due to.
Come on train.
On the pod:
Wicked Wonder - Arapaho
On the front page:
Avalanche sweeps nine to their deaths on Cursed Mountain
Action-able
On the day:
13/07/2012
On the way:
Priority seats: Please give up these seats for disabled people.
To the best of my knowledge, gargantuan buttocks or being an utter moron do not constitute a disability under the Disability Discrimination Act 1995.
Just saying.
On the pod:
Found Out About You - Gin Blossoms
On the front page:
Terry cleared of race abuse (London Evening Standard)
13/07/2012
On the way:
Priority seats: Please give up these seats for disabled people.
To the best of my knowledge, gargantuan buttocks or being an utter moron do not constitute a disability under the Disability Discrimination Act 1995.
Just saying.
On the pod:
Found Out About You - Gin Blossoms
On the front page:
Terry cleared of race abuse (London Evening Standard)
Triple threat
On the day:
12/07/2012
On the way:
Outside the station, a man in orange overalls. That's one.
He strolls a little way up the hill to a white Department of Urban Disruption van parked with two wheels on the kerb. Outside the van, leaning with his left arm over the open passenger door is another man wearing a white safety helmet and orange overalls. That's two.
And protruding from the sliding doors is a pair of legs covered in orange overall and ending in a pair of hard-wearing brown boots. That's three.
Three with plenty of room for destructive implements in the back. Always three. Well, usually.
On the pod:
The King - Hard-Fi
On the front page:
Family guilty of forcing men to work as slaves
On the subject: http://andhisthoughtsarefullofstrangers.blogspot.co.uk/2012/07/agents-of-entropy.html
12/07/2012
On the way:
Outside the station, a man in orange overalls. That's one.
He strolls a little way up the hill to a white Department of Urban Disruption van parked with two wheels on the kerb. Outside the van, leaning with his left arm over the open passenger door is another man wearing a white safety helmet and orange overalls. That's two.
And protruding from the sliding doors is a pair of legs covered in orange overall and ending in a pair of hard-wearing brown boots. That's three.
Three with plenty of room for destructive implements in the back. Always three. Well, usually.
On the pod:
The King - Hard-Fi
On the front page:
Family guilty of forcing men to work as slaves
On the subject: http://andhisthoughtsarefullofstrangers.blogspot.co.uk/2012/07/agents-of-entropy.html
Thursday 12 July 2012
Energy re-up
On the day:
11/07/2012
On the way:
He's got the goods, the boy in the grey zip-up hoodie underneath a charcoal hooded coat. He appears innocent enough, listening to his shiny, compact black mp3 player, looking down at his sharp Nike trainers with immaculate white souls.
But then a woman of a certain age (almost certainly in the mid-fifties), three seats away and opposite, with nondescript brown curls, specs and comfy clothes, prods his knee with her walking stick.
He raises his head. She mouths words at him, exaggerated, like your mum does when she doesn't want anyone to realise she's revealing to you that your junior school drama teacher is homosexual.
He rolls his eyes, like you do when your mum mouths words at you because she doesn't want anyone to realise she's revealing to you that your junior school drama teacher is homosexual.
But when a two seats open up next to her, he moves over to one cautious seat away. And when he knows the moment is right, when he believes no one is watching, he surreptitiously slips her... his half-drunk bottle of Lucozade.
He returns to the contemplation of his nifty Nikes, and she drains the refreshing orange draught.
The transaction is complete. It seems innocuous enough and the monkey's off her back. For now. But mark my words, she'll be back for more. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but she'll be back.
And where will this lead, this unsanctioned trade that is rearing its ugly head in the cold light of day? This shameless consumption of energy drinks on public transport? Will we see teenagers quaffing Monster on street corners, parents cracking a can of Red Bull in full view of their children? Next thing you know they'll be on supermarket shelves and cornerstore fridges.
Call me paranoid if you will. Just don't say you were never warned.
On the pod:
To The Shore - Duran Duran
On the front page:
Get set for the wettest Games ever (Metro)
11/07/2012
On the way:
He's got the goods, the boy in the grey zip-up hoodie underneath a charcoal hooded coat. He appears innocent enough, listening to his shiny, compact black mp3 player, looking down at his sharp Nike trainers with immaculate white souls.
But then a woman of a certain age (almost certainly in the mid-fifties), three seats away and opposite, with nondescript brown curls, specs and comfy clothes, prods his knee with her walking stick.
He raises his head. She mouths words at him, exaggerated, like your mum does when she doesn't want anyone to realise she's revealing to you that your junior school drama teacher is homosexual.
He rolls his eyes, like you do when your mum mouths words at you because she doesn't want anyone to realise she's revealing to you that your junior school drama teacher is homosexual.
But when a two seats open up next to her, he moves over to one cautious seat away. And when he knows the moment is right, when he believes no one is watching, he surreptitiously slips her... his half-drunk bottle of Lucozade.
He returns to the contemplation of his nifty Nikes, and she drains the refreshing orange draught.
The transaction is complete. It seems innocuous enough and the monkey's off her back. For now. But mark my words, she'll be back for more. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but she'll be back.
And where will this lead, this unsanctioned trade that is rearing its ugly head in the cold light of day? This shameless consumption of energy drinks on public transport? Will we see teenagers quaffing Monster on street corners, parents cracking a can of Red Bull in full view of their children? Next thing you know they'll be on supermarket shelves and cornerstore fridges.
Call me paranoid if you will. Just don't say you were never warned.
On the pod:
To The Shore - Duran Duran
On the front page:
Get set for the wettest Games ever (Metro)
Tuesday 10 July 2012
Bridges in disguise
On the day:
10/07/2012
On the way:
The bridge rises, its massive arms lift to allow a tall-masted sailing boat passage.
A greying Oriental man turns to the little girl in his arms - all ponytail, pink hairclips and floral pattern plastic raincoat - and says with a sage nod, by way of explanation, 'Transformers.'
Brilliant.
But then you get to wondering what possible value a robot that turns into a bridge, even one that opens up to let through sailing ships, is going to be to Optimus Prime and his autobotic alliance in their battle against Megatron and those dastardly decepticons.
And then you start scanning the newspapers for jobs in Los Angeles or New York City 'cos you have to be realistic about these things, when the fighting starts, you're going to want to be in a place under the protection of Bumblebee or Wheeljack or any Transformer that can do more than wave its arms around under the influence of oncoming river traffic.
On the pod:
Take The Night From Me - Miles Kane
On the front page:
Kylie Hyde Park gig sunk by mud
10/07/2012
On the way:
The bridge rises, its massive arms lift to allow a tall-masted sailing boat passage.
A greying Oriental man turns to the little girl in his arms - all ponytail, pink hairclips and floral pattern plastic raincoat - and says with a sage nod, by way of explanation, 'Transformers.'
Brilliant.
But then you get to wondering what possible value a robot that turns into a bridge, even one that opens up to let through sailing ships, is going to be to Optimus Prime and his autobotic alliance in their battle against Megatron and those dastardly decepticons.
And then you start scanning the newspapers for jobs in Los Angeles or New York City 'cos you have to be realistic about these things, when the fighting starts, you're going to want to be in a place under the protection of Bumblebee or Wheeljack or any Transformer that can do more than wave its arms around under the influence of oncoming river traffic.
On the pod:
Take The Night From Me - Miles Kane
On the front page:
Kylie Hyde Park gig sunk by mud
Grassroots insurgency
On the day:
10/07/2012
On the way:
Where merry daffodils once stood against the winter's icy blasts with unseasonal good cheer, their mania to keep them warm, now the northbound platform's green sward is adventurous with unruly grasses, tall grain- bearing stalks, pretty purple heads of tiny purple blooms and broad-leaved weeds, among them bad boys with spikey warts.
They whisper among themselves so the humans hear the sound but can't make out the words, planning their campaign to overgrow the oppressor and win back the whole station, bristling with confidence, a Floral Army for Revolution and Conquest (FARC)...
Confident, that is, until the militias arrive, the brute squads in their orange overalls, (always in threes, well usually) and bearing weapons of grass destruction, to impose the will of the unelected regime.
Then its back to grassroots level, a return to the first level of a Maoist insurgency - to operate propaganda campaigns and win popular support, as well as building up terrorist teams to coerce dissenters. Maybe they could recruit those daffodils to elicit sympathy from among the enemy ranks.
As that legendary apocalypsist Brother Enim was won't to say, 'We must get a winner some day.'
On the pod:
Time Is Running Out - Muse
On the front page:
Coalition creaks as rebels flex muscles (The Times)
On the subject: http://andhisthoughtsarefullofstrangers.blogspot.co.uk/2012/04/bright-but-dim.html
10/07/2012
On the way:
Where merry daffodils once stood against the winter's icy blasts with unseasonal good cheer, their mania to keep them warm, now the northbound platform's green sward is adventurous with unruly grasses, tall grain- bearing stalks, pretty purple heads of tiny purple blooms and broad-leaved weeds, among them bad boys with spikey warts.
They whisper among themselves so the humans hear the sound but can't make out the words, planning their campaign to overgrow the oppressor and win back the whole station, bristling with confidence, a Floral Army for Revolution and Conquest (FARC)...
Confident, that is, until the militias arrive, the brute squads in their orange overalls, (always in threes, well usually) and bearing weapons of grass destruction, to impose the will of the unelected regime.
Then its back to grassroots level, a return to the first level of a Maoist insurgency - to operate propaganda campaigns and win popular support, as well as building up terrorist teams to coerce dissenters. Maybe they could recruit those daffodils to elicit sympathy from among the enemy ranks.
As that legendary apocalypsist Brother Enim was won't to say, 'We must get a winner some day.'
On the pod:
Time Is Running Out - Muse
On the front page:
Coalition creaks as rebels flex muscles (The Times)
On the subject: http://andhisthoughtsarefullofstrangers.blogspot.co.uk/2012/04/bright-but-dim.html
Monday 9 July 2012
Mobile drone
On the day:
09/07/2012
On the way:
Stiffly coiffured - the young man toys with his upstanding fringe between the thumb and two fingers of his right but fails to disturb its careful construction - and smartly dressed in a black suit, light pink shirt and navy blue tie with little, matching pink polka dots, and a monogrammed brown leather bag, all his attention is on his phone.
He could be setting up a viewing of a house with a prospective buyer, or scanning the Nikkei for trends on his way to the City.
That's what he'd like you to think. But actually, he's calling in a drone strike on a top-secret target in the Federally Administered Tribal Areas of Pakistan.
Init.
On the pod:
Better Come Home Soon - Crowded House
On the front page:
Millionaire 'with mafia links spied on rivals'
09/07/2012
On the way:
Stiffly coiffured - the young man toys with his upstanding fringe between the thumb and two fingers of his right but fails to disturb its careful construction - and smartly dressed in a black suit, light pink shirt and navy blue tie with little, matching pink polka dots, and a monogrammed brown leather bag, all his attention is on his phone.
He could be setting up a viewing of a house with a prospective buyer, or scanning the Nikkei for trends on his way to the City.
That's what he'd like you to think. But actually, he's calling in a drone strike on a top-secret target in the Federally Administered Tribal Areas of Pakistan.
Init.
On the pod:
Better Come Home Soon - Crowded House
On the front page:
Millionaire 'with mafia links spied on rivals'
Saturday 7 July 2012
Big star overnight
On the day:
06/072012
On the way:
Black leather shoes, light blue jeans turned up at the ankles, spacious jacket and chiselled cheekbones supporting ice-blue eyes. And a swept back blond quiff. They're all over the place.
He's almost certainly taught himself to dance, too.
Whether he's read Karl Marx, though, that's a question you can keep asking.
On the pod:
Walking Through You - Justin Currie
On the front page:
Victory as PM backs foster-first adoption
http://andhisthoughtsarefullofstrangers.blogspot.co.uk/2012/06/drop-boy.html
06/072012
On the way:
Black leather shoes, light blue jeans turned up at the ankles, spacious jacket and chiselled cheekbones supporting ice-blue eyes. And a swept back blond quiff. They're all over the place.
He's almost certainly taught himself to dance, too.
Whether he's read Karl Marx, though, that's a question you can keep asking.
On the pod:
Walking Through You - Justin Currie
On the front page:
Victory as PM backs foster-first adoption
http://andhisthoughtsarefullofstrangers.blogspot.co.uk/2012/06/drop-boy.html
Friday 6 July 2012
Hand on the helm
On the day:
05/07/2012
On the way:
A little, elderly lady in grey slacks, orange cardie with gold buttons and spectacles boards the good ship Routemaster, followed by a hulk of a boy in jeans, baseball cap and jacket (different teams, but let's not quibble). His hands are on her shoulders, clearly guiding her, helping her negotiate the narrow gangways of the bus. Perhaps her sight is impaired, perhaps she's just frail, but it warms the heart to see such dedication to a grandmother. They sit together - her eyes are mercifully clear and lively, his dark and still, largely staring forward - and talk quietly and companionably. The bus stops, a gum-chewing ruminant gets up and waddles off, vacating a window seat and he indicates a desire to switch or shuffle up. He rises, shakily, wobbles to his feet, and and tries to step over to the open seat on legs like a landlubber's newly embarked on an ocean voyage. The elderly lady lifts up her slim arms, strong hands taking his hands to steady him. The penny drops, bounces, rolls along the deck and overboard, and falls further still before troubling the swells. It's she who is at the helm, steering her vulnerable charge through the stormy waters, not him.
On the pod:
(Waiting For The) Ghost Train - Madness
On the front page:
Diamond refuses to take blame for rate fix (The Times)
05/07/2012
On the way:
A little, elderly lady in grey slacks, orange cardie with gold buttons and spectacles boards the good ship Routemaster, followed by a hulk of a boy in jeans, baseball cap and jacket (different teams, but let's not quibble). His hands are on her shoulders, clearly guiding her, helping her negotiate the narrow gangways of the bus. Perhaps her sight is impaired, perhaps she's just frail, but it warms the heart to see such dedication to a grandmother. They sit together - her eyes are mercifully clear and lively, his dark and still, largely staring forward - and talk quietly and companionably. The bus stops, a gum-chewing ruminant gets up and waddles off, vacating a window seat and he indicates a desire to switch or shuffle up. He rises, shakily, wobbles to his feet, and and tries to step over to the open seat on legs like a landlubber's newly embarked on an ocean voyage. The elderly lady lifts up her slim arms, strong hands taking his hands to steady him. The penny drops, bounces, rolls along the deck and overboard, and falls further still before troubling the swells. It's she who is at the helm, steering her vulnerable charge through the stormy waters, not him.
On the pod:
(Waiting For The) Ghost Train - Madness
On the front page:
Diamond refuses to take blame for rate fix (The Times)
Thursday 5 July 2012
Beware my power
On the day:
04/07/2012
On the way:
There is a child on his mother's lap as she chats to grandma. His head is shaggy, reaching to the collar of his navy big-name-brand windcheater. He's quite old enough to be sitting on his own, but there it is.
He's not in great spirits. Not that he's kicking up a fuss; he's bored really, fidgeting, pushing out his lower lip, lying back on his mum's lap and hanging his head upside down.
But he has something that sets him apart from other children - a power ring forged in the giant battery on Oa circles the middle finger of his left hand. He has clearly been chosen by the Guardians of the Universe (or by the ring itself) as the fearless one in whose hands the security of sector 2814 rests.
Either that or his parents are oblivious to the ignominious failure of the Green Lantern movie. But what are the chances of that? It was such an intergalactic box-office bomb.
So come on kid, say it: "In brightest day..."
On the pod:
Digging For Some Words (Human) - Johnny Clegg
On the front page:
Diamond: Now we find out if his bite's worse than his Barc
On the subject: http://andhisthoughtsarefullofstrangers.blogspot.co.uk/2012/05/in-brightest-day.html
04/07/2012
On the way:
There is a child on his mother's lap as she chats to grandma. His head is shaggy, reaching to the collar of his navy big-name-brand windcheater. He's quite old enough to be sitting on his own, but there it is.
He's not in great spirits. Not that he's kicking up a fuss; he's bored really, fidgeting, pushing out his lower lip, lying back on his mum's lap and hanging his head upside down.
But he has something that sets him apart from other children - a power ring forged in the giant battery on Oa circles the middle finger of his left hand. He has clearly been chosen by the Guardians of the Universe (or by the ring itself) as the fearless one in whose hands the security of sector 2814 rests.
Either that or his parents are oblivious to the ignominious failure of the Green Lantern movie. But what are the chances of that? It was such an intergalactic box-office bomb.
So come on kid, say it: "In brightest day..."
On the pod:
Digging For Some Words (Human) - Johnny Clegg
On the front page:
Diamond: Now we find out if his bite's worse than his Barc
On the subject: http://andhisthoughtsarefullofstrangers.blogspot.co.uk/2012/05/in-brightest-day.html
Tuesday 3 July 2012
Best ferrends
On the day:
03/07/2012
On the way:
Today he's in grey cammo combat trousers and a black hoodie with a snarling tiger's face but he's still wearing his black and white baseball cap, still chewing on his few remaining teeth and thoughts still cross his features like clouds crossing the blue skies.
When the the skies are blue. Remember that?
And the narrow leather strap over his right shoulder? That still leads to the harness on his constant companion, the white ferret, today curled up in his hood.
On the pod:
Work For All - Juluka
On the front page:
Diamond: I'm proud of you all at Barclays (Metro)
03/07/2012
On the way:
Today he's in grey cammo combat trousers and a black hoodie with a snarling tiger's face but he's still wearing his black and white baseball cap, still chewing on his few remaining teeth and thoughts still cross his features like clouds crossing the blue skies.
When the the skies are blue. Remember that?
And the narrow leather strap over his right shoulder? That still leads to the harness on his constant companion, the white ferret, today curled up in his hood.
On the pod:
Work For All - Juluka
On the front page:
Diamond: I'm proud of you all at Barclays (Metro)
The long arm of
On the day:
02/07/2012
On the way:
The little black and orange pod up at road level lurches from side to side. The rotating yellow safety light on the back of the pod, warning that heavy machinery is in operation, would appear surplus to requirement, as the giveaway is the huge, triple jointed orange arm with its massive claw, tearing giant fistfuls of earth out of the ground, jerking to its right and slamming its contents into a skip. And in charge of this constructive destruction a tiny figure is alert at the controls in his pod.
Thirty feet below, the woman in the box crackles her familiar come-on and commuters shuffle towards the edge of platform 1. A white train with green trim slows into its approach.
Then, as it reaches the platform, dips its head, and speeds through the station, its tail whipping to its left at the last instant, a vicious swipe scything through the crowd. Bodies fly, bodies fall and the wyrm, its work down slithers on up the track.
Survivors scatter and 30 feet above, a lone figure lolls forward in his booth, his head hitting the dashboard as the yellow light spins furiously.
The orange arm flexes, extends, reaches down to the platform and greedily scoops up broken bodies, clearing away the living and the dead in one pass. It lifts them high into the air and with an insolent flick of its wrist empties them into its skip. And returns to its work as the day reverts to normal.
If there were witnesses (and there were) what would they say anyway?
On the pod:
Here Comes The Rain Again - Eurythmics
On the front page:
Barclays boss quits as scandal deepens
http://andhisthoughtsarefullofstrangers.blogspot.co.uk/2012/05/commuting-dead.html
http://andhisthoughtsarefullofstrangers.blogspot.co.uk/2012/04/on-day-12042012-on-way-small-thursday.html
02/07/2012
On the way:
The little black and orange pod up at road level lurches from side to side. The rotating yellow safety light on the back of the pod, warning that heavy machinery is in operation, would appear surplus to requirement, as the giveaway is the huge, triple jointed orange arm with its massive claw, tearing giant fistfuls of earth out of the ground, jerking to its right and slamming its contents into a skip. And in charge of this constructive destruction a tiny figure is alert at the controls in his pod.
Thirty feet below, the woman in the box crackles her familiar come-on and commuters shuffle towards the edge of platform 1. A white train with green trim slows into its approach.
Then, as it reaches the platform, dips its head, and speeds through the station, its tail whipping to its left at the last instant, a vicious swipe scything through the crowd. Bodies fly, bodies fall and the wyrm, its work down slithers on up the track.
Survivors scatter and 30 feet above, a lone figure lolls forward in his booth, his head hitting the dashboard as the yellow light spins furiously.
The orange arm flexes, extends, reaches down to the platform and greedily scoops up broken bodies, clearing away the living and the dead in one pass. It lifts them high into the air and with an insolent flick of its wrist empties them into its skip. And returns to its work as the day reverts to normal.
If there were witnesses (and there were) what would they say anyway?
On the pod:
Here Comes The Rain Again - Eurythmics
On the front page:
Barclays boss quits as scandal deepens
http://andhisthoughtsarefullofstrangers.blogspot.co.uk/2012/05/commuting-dead.html
http://andhisthoughtsarefullofstrangers.blogspot.co.uk/2012/04/on-day-12042012-on-way-small-thursday.html
Giving the bird
On the day:
30/06/2012
On the way:
"Please turn that down."
She's looking tired, the mum, and trying to chat to the nan. But the little boy, in spectacles and over-the-knee football socks says no. "No." Truculently.
He's playing a game on her mobile, noisily. Not just the volume on the phone but also the vocal accompaniment. "Stop," he shouts. "Stop."
It doesn't help that the game doesn't respond to his spoken commands. It certainly doesn't help that his mum is telling him that it's not responding to his spoken commands.
"No. No. Stop."
"Is it them birds?' she asks.
No answer.
She sighs. "He's so spoilt," she notes wearily to nan.
"No I'm not," he yells without lifting his head from his game.
If he hasn't worked out that no amount of yelling will alter the trajectory of a virtual bird hurled from a catapult at a flimsy structure of builders' detritus and mutant pigs, what are the chances he has looked back on his behaviour and smiled inwardly, thinking, "Oh the irony"?
On the pod:
Vertigo - U2
On the front page:
Demand for inquiry into the City's 'corrupt elite (The Times)
30/06/2012
On the way:
"Please turn that down."
She's looking tired, the mum, and trying to chat to the nan. But the little boy, in spectacles and over-the-knee football socks says no. "No." Truculently.
He's playing a game on her mobile, noisily. Not just the volume on the phone but also the vocal accompaniment. "Stop," he shouts. "Stop."
It doesn't help that the game doesn't respond to his spoken commands. It certainly doesn't help that his mum is telling him that it's not responding to his spoken commands.
"No. No. Stop."
"Is it them birds?' she asks.
No answer.
She sighs. "He's so spoilt," she notes wearily to nan.
"No I'm not," he yells without lifting his head from his game.
If he hasn't worked out that no amount of yelling will alter the trajectory of a virtual bird hurled from a catapult at a flimsy structure of builders' detritus and mutant pigs, what are the chances he has looked back on his behaviour and smiled inwardly, thinking, "Oh the irony"?
On the pod:
Vertigo - U2
On the front page:
Demand for inquiry into the City's 'corrupt elite (The Times)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)