On the day:
30/11/2012
On the way:
It's not about the mat of dark brown hair hanging stiffly down the back of his head and swiped sideways from behind his left temple low across his forehead. (Although... is that a hint of burgundy colouring picked up by the icy morning sun?)
It's not about the valiant attempt at a beard that scraggles across his narrow chin and clings to the strip between his thin lips and the point of his nose.
It's not about the grungey black and white checked jacket or the fruit pastille purple jeans. (It's no big. Doesn't everyone wear fruit pastille purple jeans?)
It's not even about the old-school headphones, padded to exclude extraneous sound and attached by a thick, curly cord to, what? A pocket record player with original Seventies vinyl? It has a warmer sound, you know. (Well, maybe it's a bit about all that.)
But no. It's about the music.
Man.
On the pod:
This Side Of The Morning - Del Amitri
On the front page:
Cameron spikes Press law (The Times)
Friday 30 November 2012
In pursuit of justification
On the day:
29/11/2012
On the way:
Oh exciting. Three police officers - one woman two men - board the bus, uniforms and Custodian helmets and ladies' bowler and everything.
And they remove their headgear and stand there chatting for a few stops, and then the one bloke helmets up and steps off to make inquiries of a couple of sidewalk entrepreneurs with a couple of great big square bags of wares a few metres up the pavement, while the other two stay on for a few more stops and...
And you can't help feeling a little disappointment that there wasn't just a little more action - if not an actual shootout or drug bust, at least enough to justify writing a whole goshdarned blog posting about it.
On the pod:
Tomorrow's Just Another Day - Madness
On the front page:
As Leveson reports, owner of Independent seeks help
29/11/2012
On the way:
Oh exciting. Three police officers - one woman two men - board the bus, uniforms and Custodian helmets and ladies' bowler and everything.
And they remove their headgear and stand there chatting for a few stops, and then the one bloke helmets up and steps off to make inquiries of a couple of sidewalk entrepreneurs with a couple of great big square bags of wares a few metres up the pavement, while the other two stay on for a few more stops and...
And you can't help feeling a little disappointment that there wasn't just a little more action - if not an actual shootout or drug bust, at least enough to justify writing a whole goshdarned blog posting about it.
On the pod:
Tomorrow's Just Another Day - Madness
On the front page:
As Leveson reports, owner of Independent seeks help
Thursday 29 November 2012
The early bird
On the day:
28/11/2012
On the way:
He hops off the bottom step into the lower deck. His skinny legs strut stiffly in their blue jeans, but his body is round, bobbing up and down in its blue and white checked coat. His shiny bald head darts back and forth and side to side, beady black eyes keeping a lookout for, what? Cats?
On the pod:
Harder To Breathe - Maroon 5
On the front page:
Airport city on Thames (inspired by India) (London Evening Standard)
28/11/2012
On the way:
He hops off the bottom step into the lower deck. His skinny legs strut stiffly in their blue jeans, but his body is round, bobbing up and down in its blue and white checked coat. His shiny bald head darts back and forth and side to side, beady black eyes keeping a lookout for, what? Cats?
On the pod:
Harder To Breathe - Maroon 5
On the front page:
Airport city on Thames (inspired by India) (London Evening Standard)
Wednesday 28 November 2012
Dark matter
On the day:
27/11/2012
On the way:
The dull grey sky smothers the morning light and only two figures can be discerned in the corner shadow of the bus shelter.
One sits, her coat a formless shape against the murk, and beyond her is the face of another woman her clothing fading into the gloom.
A flutter of black in the blackness, where the standing woman's shoulder should be, as though a stiff gust has lifted a scarf, or dislodged a flap of existence. Shards of dark material flicker in moments of matt and gloss then manifest ... a bird stands on the pavement. His eyes glitter, marquisite set in sockets of dark matter, a defiant instant. ruffles his feathers and takes flight.
Towards Ravensbourne.
On the pod:
Daddy's Gone - Glasvegas
On the front page:
Chancellor banks on top outsider to save economy (The Times)
27/11/2012
On the way:
The dull grey sky smothers the morning light and only two figures can be discerned in the corner shadow of the bus shelter.
One sits, her coat a formless shape against the murk, and beyond her is the face of another woman her clothing fading into the gloom.
A flutter of black in the blackness, where the standing woman's shoulder should be, as though a stiff gust has lifted a scarf, or dislodged a flap of existence. Shards of dark material flicker in moments of matt and gloss then manifest ... a bird stands on the pavement. His eyes glitter, marquisite set in sockets of dark matter, a defiant instant. ruffles his feathers and takes flight.
Towards Ravensbourne.
On the pod:
Daddy's Gone - Glasvegas
On the front page:
Chancellor banks on top outsider to save economy (The Times)
Saturday 24 November 2012
In the sniffstream
On the day:
23/11/2012
On the way:
A grey November morning on the public transport system brightens when a slim man in a thigh-length, padded and hooded, light khaki rain jacket over a thin, iron-grey cable-knit jersey gently shoulders his way through the throng in the aisle of the bus, holding a gold key in his right hand, a wallet and a travelcard in his right, and wearing a slightly apologetic, slightly bemused, but delightful smile on his face.
And in his wake, a slipstream of good feeling.
It follows him to the back of the bus, where he drapes himself over one and a half seats, his right leg swinging from the knee to reveal pinky-purple socks between the hem of his cheap khaki trousers and his worn black Reebok trainers.
And then starts the sniffing...
On the pod:
Overflowing: The Usual
On the front page:
Drink drivers may face a lifetime ban (Metro)
23/11/2012
On the way:
A grey November morning on the public transport system brightens when a slim man in a thigh-length, padded and hooded, light khaki rain jacket over a thin, iron-grey cable-knit jersey gently shoulders his way through the throng in the aisle of the bus, holding a gold key in his right hand, a wallet and a travelcard in his right, and wearing a slightly apologetic, slightly bemused, but delightful smile on his face.
And in his wake, a slipstream of good feeling.
It follows him to the back of the bus, where he drapes himself over one and a half seats, his right leg swinging from the knee to reveal pinky-purple socks between the hem of his cheap khaki trousers and his worn black Reebok trainers.
And then starts the sniffing...
On the pod:
Overflowing: The Usual
On the front page:
Drink drivers may face a lifetime ban (Metro)
Friday 23 November 2012
Leaft to rot
On the day:
22/11/2012
On the way:
At the end of a day of delays and cancellations, the train inches forward in the darkness, its wheels growling for traction on the slick and slushy line.
The leaves are doing their work.
On the pod:
Antarctica - Sound of Guns
On the front page:
New BBC chief is named amid payouts storm (London Evening Standard)
22/11/2012
On the way:
At the end of a day of delays and cancellations, the train inches forward in the darkness, its wheels growling for traction on the slick and slushy line.
The leaves are doing their work.
On the pod:
Antarctica - Sound of Guns
On the front page:
New BBC chief is named amid payouts storm (London Evening Standard)
Thursday 22 November 2012
An inspector calls
On the day:
21/11/2012
On the way:
When the words come from over my shoulder, my stomach drops and my blood runs cold.
Spoken softly, almost whispered, without threat, they still hold menace. "Tickets please."
It's just one man - "We could take 'im," springs unhelpfully to mind - dressed inconspicuously in a dark hoodie. And his face is young, pleasant, unmemorable, wouldn't stand out in a crowd. Even if I'd been facing the doors as he boarded the bus this morning, I wouldn't have picked him as a ticket inspector. It's a tactic. Stealth checks. Those underhanded transport authorities, sending their spies to sneak in and snoop around...
Wait a minute, what am I saying? I've paid my way. I couldn't have got much further than the bus driver without tapping my Oyster card on the electronic reader. I'm in the clear. I'm all right, Jack.
Check me, sir. Check me.
And now, check him, the big guy skulking in the corner back seat. I bet he hasn't paid, you can catch him.
Freeloaders, pfeh. Who do they think they are? Feeding off our taxes, stealing from the state...
On the pod:
17 Hills - Thomas Dolby
On the front page:
Church faces crisis after veto on women bishops (The Times)
21/11/2012
On the way:
When the words come from over my shoulder, my stomach drops and my blood runs cold.
Spoken softly, almost whispered, without threat, they still hold menace. "Tickets please."
It's just one man - "We could take 'im," springs unhelpfully to mind - dressed inconspicuously in a dark hoodie. And his face is young, pleasant, unmemorable, wouldn't stand out in a crowd. Even if I'd been facing the doors as he boarded the bus this morning, I wouldn't have picked him as a ticket inspector. It's a tactic. Stealth checks. Those underhanded transport authorities, sending their spies to sneak in and snoop around...
Wait a minute, what am I saying? I've paid my way. I couldn't have got much further than the bus driver without tapping my Oyster card on the electronic reader. I'm in the clear. I'm all right, Jack.
Check me, sir. Check me.
And now, check him, the big guy skulking in the corner back seat. I bet he hasn't paid, you can catch him.
Freeloaders, pfeh. Who do they think they are? Feeding off our taxes, stealing from the state...
On the pod:
17 Hills - Thomas Dolby
On the front page:
Church faces crisis after veto on women bishops (The Times)
An old leaf
On the day:
20/11/2012
On the way:
The rubbish cart is moored outside the station. It's an impressive vessel - a blue plastic hull with a lidded hold fore and an open one aft, and outboard rigging to hold brooms, rakes and the like. And around it huddles its crew, in their reflective yellow waistcoats, consulting, drinking coffee and skilfully exploding the maritime metaphor.
There's the tall chap leaning forward conspiratorially, his back to the entrance. We'll call him Darth Beech.
Then there's the one with the flatcap, slightly shorter, slightly sturdier, leaning back a bit with a grip on the handles at the back of the cart, Darth Oak.
And finally the short chap, peering over the far side of the cart from under a slumped navy blue beanie, his freckles showing through the dark skin of his cheeks, a bit like a mini Morgan Freeman. Darth Minimorg.
Hey, who ever promised consistency of naming conventions in this blog?
And the cart's cargo? Autumn leaves painstakingly swept from the streets so you the pedestrian doesn't have to suffer the embarrassment of walking into the office with dead foliage stuck to the sole of your shoe or speared by your stiletto.
What kind of leaves, you may ask.
The wrong kind of leaves, of course, just the kind that can be deployed on a railway line near you.
On the pod:
Stand By Me - Oasis
On the front page:
British use of drones at heart of 'secret war' (The Times)
20/11/2012
On the way:
The rubbish cart is moored outside the station. It's an impressive vessel - a blue plastic hull with a lidded hold fore and an open one aft, and outboard rigging to hold brooms, rakes and the like. And around it huddles its crew, in their reflective yellow waistcoats, consulting, drinking coffee and skilfully exploding the maritime metaphor.
There's the tall chap leaning forward conspiratorially, his back to the entrance. We'll call him Darth Beech.
Then there's the one with the flatcap, slightly shorter, slightly sturdier, leaning back a bit with a grip on the handles at the back of the cart, Darth Oak.
And finally the short chap, peering over the far side of the cart from under a slumped navy blue beanie, his freckles showing through the dark skin of his cheeks, a bit like a mini Morgan Freeman. Darth Minimorg.
Hey, who ever promised consistency of naming conventions in this blog?
And the cart's cargo? Autumn leaves painstakingly swept from the streets so you the pedestrian doesn't have to suffer the embarrassment of walking into the office with dead foliage stuck to the sole of your shoe or speared by your stiletto.
What kind of leaves, you may ask.
The wrong kind of leaves, of course, just the kind that can be deployed on a railway line near you.
On the pod:
Stand By Me - Oasis
On the front page:
British use of drones at heart of 'secret war' (The Times)
Tuesday 20 November 2012
Brothers beyond
On the day:
19/11/2012
On the way:
Just the two of them today, talking each other through a series of dance steps in hushed tones.
Darth Bling and Darth Adonis they may be, but urban disruption is not their bag. When they stop the traffic, it's not with jackhammers and graders.
Both are in skinny black jeans, black jackets and matching gold chains with links as thick as a child's finger.
They're one, but they're not the same. The taller, by an inch or two of height and a couple more of lavender quiff, has white-soled slip-on plimsolls with a slavering rottweiler design on the uppers and a black leather jacket over a BOY vest.
The other, with the turquoise do, has shiny silver trainers with thick white soles and busily embroidered silky black jacket - along with the standard wriggling Eastern dragons, the names of United States ships down the left sleeve, Oriental ports down the right, and an Asia by Asia-style serpent lashing the sea as it rises on the back, surrounded by imperial naval flags of questionable historic origin. But what would I know of such things?
What a pity, though, if that jacket were to upstage the borrowed from Brother Beyond routine they are rehearsing on the platform.
On the pod:
Living Is A Problem Because Everything Dies - Biffy Clyro
On the front page:
Secrecy bid over sex claims (The Times)
19/11/2012
On the way:
Just the two of them today, talking each other through a series of dance steps in hushed tones.
Darth Bling and Darth Adonis they may be, but urban disruption is not their bag. When they stop the traffic, it's not with jackhammers and graders.
Both are in skinny black jeans, black jackets and matching gold chains with links as thick as a child's finger.
They're one, but they're not the same. The taller, by an inch or two of height and a couple more of lavender quiff, has white-soled slip-on plimsolls with a slavering rottweiler design on the uppers and a black leather jacket over a BOY vest.
The other, with the turquoise do, has shiny silver trainers with thick white soles and busily embroidered silky black jacket - along with the standard wriggling Eastern dragons, the names of United States ships down the left sleeve, Oriental ports down the right, and an Asia by Asia-style serpent lashing the sea as it rises on the back, surrounded by imperial naval flags of questionable historic origin. But what would I know of such things?
What a pity, though, if that jacket were to upstage the borrowed from Brother Beyond routine they are rehearsing on the platform.
On the pod:
Living Is A Problem Because Everything Dies - Biffy Clyro
On the front page:
Secrecy bid over sex claims (The Times)
Monday 19 November 2012
Man in the mirror
On the day:
19/11/2012
On the way:
Blue jeans, black sweatshirt, beard and a Tottenham Hotspur beanie pulled over his forehead.
Is his hair thinning underneath? Is he waiting for the 208? Or is it just that there's a full-length mirror on the side of the bus stop.
No, of course not. What would I be doing with a baby buggy?
Or wearing white trainers?
On the pod:
Bedshaped - Keane
On the front page:
West warns against land invasion after bloodiest day (The Times)
19/11/2012
On the way:
Blue jeans, black sweatshirt, beard and a Tottenham Hotspur beanie pulled over his forehead.
Is his hair thinning underneath? Is he waiting for the 208? Or is it just that there's a full-length mirror on the side of the bus stop.
No, of course not. What would I be doing with a baby buggy?
Or wearing white trainers?
On the pod:
Bedshaped - Keane
On the front page:
West warns against land invasion after bloodiest day (The Times)
Friday 16 November 2012
Putting the dockers on
On the day:
15/11/2012
On the way:
Rolled-up beanie, weatherproof jacket, jeans and sturdy workboots - and that's just part of it.
It's also the big build, the broadly drawn, heavy face and the determined set of his mouth - he belongs on a New York dockside among the high-vaulted warehouses and imposing cargo containers. How many times have I seen his kind, armed with a lead pipe or crowbar, in a futile battle with hero for hire Luke Cage or your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man.
Mebbe he thinks he'll take less of a battering on public transport in South London.
Mebbe he's got another think coming.
On the pod:
Shine Like Stars - Glasvegas
On the front page:
Guard faces prison over drunk girl's rail tragedy (Metro)
15/11/2012
On the way:
Rolled-up beanie, weatherproof jacket, jeans and sturdy workboots - and that's just part of it.
It's also the big build, the broadly drawn, heavy face and the determined set of his mouth - he belongs on a New York dockside among the high-vaulted warehouses and imposing cargo containers. How many times have I seen his kind, armed with a lead pipe or crowbar, in a futile battle with hero for hire Luke Cage or your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man.
Mebbe he thinks he'll take less of a battering on public transport in South London.
Mebbe he's got another think coming.
On the pod:
Shine Like Stars - Glasvegas
On the front page:
Guard faces prison over drunk girl's rail tragedy (Metro)
Estudiante Espanol
On the day:
14/11/2012
On the way:
Slim, primary colours of red fading to yellow and back to red, simple illustrations, that's a children's book he's reading, mouthing the words quietly to himself as he sits in the back of the bus.
He's a gentle-looking man with a warm chocolate complexion and inquiring eyes; and while the hair is thinning off the top of his head, retreating from a generous forehead, a thin beard has emerged on his cheeks and chin.
He sensibly snug in a brown jersey with narrow, orange, horizontal stripes and jeans, and between his feet, in brown trainers with velcro straps, is the stationer's bag that contained the book.
The book lifted for a moment, its Spanish Phrases for Kids. It's all making sense now.
Anyone know the the Spanish for, "Good on you, mate"?
On the pod:
Record Collection - Mark Ronson and the Business International
On the front page:
A place at Eton for the poor (Metro)
14/11/2012
On the way:
Slim, primary colours of red fading to yellow and back to red, simple illustrations, that's a children's book he's reading, mouthing the words quietly to himself as he sits in the back of the bus.
He's a gentle-looking man with a warm chocolate complexion and inquiring eyes; and while the hair is thinning off the top of his head, retreating from a generous forehead, a thin beard has emerged on his cheeks and chin.
He sensibly snug in a brown jersey with narrow, orange, horizontal stripes and jeans, and between his feet, in brown trainers with velcro straps, is the stationer's bag that contained the book.
The book lifted for a moment, its Spanish Phrases for Kids. It's all making sense now.
Anyone know the the Spanish for, "Good on you, mate"?
On the pod:
Record Collection - Mark Ronson and the Business International
On the front page:
A place at Eton for the poor (Metro)
Thursday 15 November 2012
Step to the right
On the day:
14/11/2012
On the way:
"... more than a hundred years old," he's leaning to his left, getting a better view as he regales the wide-eyed young lady one step down from him on the escalator, "and it's been handed down through the generations..."
And speaking of traditions, pal, here's a more recent one: round these parts we stand to the right so people in a hurry can pass on the left. No matter how much we want to bask in the impressed upward gaze of the girl we're trying to impress with our encyclopaedic knowledge of whatever.
On the pod:
Runaways - The Killers
On the front page:
Cold, hungry and abandoned on the border of catastrophe (The Times)
14/11/2012
On the way:
"... more than a hundred years old," he's leaning to his left, getting a better view as he regales the wide-eyed young lady one step down from him on the escalator, "and it's been handed down through the generations..."
And speaking of traditions, pal, here's a more recent one: round these parts we stand to the right so people in a hurry can pass on the left. No matter how much we want to bask in the impressed upward gaze of the girl we're trying to impress with our encyclopaedic knowledge of whatever.
On the pod:
Runaways - The Killers
On the front page:
Cold, hungry and abandoned on the border of catastrophe (The Times)
Monday 12 November 2012
Men of colours
On the day:
12/11/2012
On the way:
They are three. Let's call them Darth Candy, Darth Bling and Darth Adonis. Three but not a luminous orange overall between them.
There's the one in the houndstooth coat, with hair buzzed close to his scalp, just a candyfloss pink puff standing, maybe slouching a little, in a cool, careless way, on top of his head.
Then there's the one with a black leather jacket, quilted across the shoulders where the strap of his shiny gold manbag lies, short hair in turquoise with a quiff at the front.
And finally, the one with backswept violet hair, a light reddish tan faux leather satchel peppered with a logo (either so exclusive or so cheap that it is not readily recogniseable) and a Union Jack-esque design on the back with big square silver studs, a glittery gold quilted jacket and, best of all, gold shoes with wings flapping out off the uppers.
Evidently, fabulous things also come in threes.
On the pod:
Give Me The Wonder - Johnny Clegg
On the front page:
BBC row: A plea for the real victims (Metro)
12/11/2012
On the way:
They are three. Let's call them Darth Candy, Darth Bling and Darth Adonis. Three but not a luminous orange overall between them.
There's the one in the houndstooth coat, with hair buzzed close to his scalp, just a candyfloss pink puff standing, maybe slouching a little, in a cool, careless way, on top of his head.
Then there's the one with a black leather jacket, quilted across the shoulders where the strap of his shiny gold manbag lies, short hair in turquoise with a quiff at the front.
And finally, the one with backswept violet hair, a light reddish tan faux leather satchel peppered with a logo (either so exclusive or so cheap that it is not readily recogniseable) and a Union Jack-esque design on the back with big square silver studs, a glittery gold quilted jacket and, best of all, gold shoes with wings flapping out off the uppers.
Evidently, fabulous things also come in threes.
On the pod:
Give Me The Wonder - Johnny Clegg
On the front page:
BBC row: A plea for the real victims (Metro)
Lost and found
On the day:
09/11/2012
On the way:
There are no grounds for suspicion when he boards, the open-faced young man in the white sweatshirt, navy quilted bodywarmer and faded blue jeans. Nor when he disappears up the stairs to the upper deck, nor even when he comes down again almost immediately - although it can't be that all the seats up there are taken.
But when he proceeds quickly up the aisle to the back of the bus, takes a cursory look at the mostly empty row of back seats, settling his eyes for an extra instant on the left corner, then hurries back upstairs. What was that about? What is he looking for?
Jupiter Jones might have an idea, Sherlock Holmes a better one. Could it be a drug drop? A sign from an extremist cell? Intelligence from an undercover agency?
It's only later that the lady in the opposite corner stands up and leaves, that the folded up piece of paper she was sitting on becomes evident.
I scan the faces of my fellow passengers. I see mainly backs but for the sandy blonde woman with the John Byrne facial structure who is staring distractedly out through the window to her right and the bloated ebony man with the pockmarked cheeks and the small eyes who has done nothing since dropping onto his seat and hauling off his beanie but but stare vacantly forward.
No, no one's looking. This may be my only chance.
I stretch swiftly across the neighbouring seat and slide the paper back into the back pocket of my trousers. Now it's safely in my possession, there's no sense in taking chances; it'll stay there until I get a moment to look at it in private...
On the pod:
Back To California - The Wallflowers
On the front page:
New archbishop to pour oil on troubled waters (The Times)
09/11/2012
On the way:
There are no grounds for suspicion when he boards, the open-faced young man in the white sweatshirt, navy quilted bodywarmer and faded blue jeans. Nor when he disappears up the stairs to the upper deck, nor even when he comes down again almost immediately - although it can't be that all the seats up there are taken.
But when he proceeds quickly up the aisle to the back of the bus, takes a cursory look at the mostly empty row of back seats, settling his eyes for an extra instant on the left corner, then hurries back upstairs. What was that about? What is he looking for?
Jupiter Jones might have an idea, Sherlock Holmes a better one. Could it be a drug drop? A sign from an extremist cell? Intelligence from an undercover agency?
It's only later that the lady in the opposite corner stands up and leaves, that the folded up piece of paper she was sitting on becomes evident.
I scan the faces of my fellow passengers. I see mainly backs but for the sandy blonde woman with the John Byrne facial structure who is staring distractedly out through the window to her right and the bloated ebony man with the pockmarked cheeks and the small eyes who has done nothing since dropping onto his seat and hauling off his beanie but but stare vacantly forward.
No, no one's looking. This may be my only chance.
I stretch swiftly across the neighbouring seat and slide the paper back into the back pocket of my trousers. Now it's safely in my possession, there's no sense in taking chances; it'll stay there until I get a moment to look at it in private...
On the pod:
Back To California - The Wallflowers
On the front page:
New archbishop to pour oil on troubled waters (The Times)
Sunday 11 November 2012
What's a meta for?
On the day:
08/11/2012
On the way:
Two gold balloons carrying a moneylender's logo, tied together with a piece of string, drift into the road, skipping and bouncing carelessly in the breeze of the busy bus stop lane (a third remains on the pavement).
Commuters stand in the shelter, waiting for the metaphor.
On the pod:
Ballad - Sons Of Trout
On the front page:
Wall St alarm as Obama faces gridlock (The Times)
08/11/2012
On the way:
Two gold balloons carrying a moneylender's logo, tied together with a piece of string, drift into the road, skipping and bouncing carelessly in the breeze of the busy bus stop lane (a third remains on the pavement).
Commuters stand in the shelter, waiting for the metaphor.
On the pod:
Ballad - Sons Of Trout
On the front page:
Wall St alarm as Obama faces gridlock (The Times)
Saturday 10 November 2012
Upwardly mobile
On the day:
07/11/2012
On the way:
The elevator arrives, a great equaliser.
Together they have stood, together they have waited, whatever the surface world may hold - a long walk or a Lexus; a rent or a residence; a family or a flop-house - they're all at the mercy of the illuminated arrow and its progress up and down the display panel. Oh, let it point at me. Please let it point at me.
So the lift lands and the loose tangle of people tightens into a knot around the doors as its load disperses out of its other side of the steel box.
Finally it is empty and the doors open up but the knot holds firm as it drags its constituent bodies shuffling into the steel box - five, ten, twenty, maybe thirty as one, unified in a common understanding: we are all human beings together and by the force of our fellow-feeling we will achieve our purpose, to rise to the surface where we belong.
When from the tunnel bursts a figure, the first fresh off the incoming Tube, legs pumping, black coat flapping, left arm flailing, right hanging onto a bouncing, brown leather bag, racing to reach the lift before its doors close.
He's there, he's made it, he stops, he sees the human cordon at the very edge of capacity. It's a line of oblivious backs - there's a green coat, a couple of black ones - and one face, the girl in the cream jacket with the flicked out golden bob, standing side-on and looking out over her bag shoulder. He smiles to himself, the smile of a man who knows he's beaten but he's competed well.
She sees... nothing.
The doors close, separating the upwardly mobile from the moribund, the elevated and the overlooked, and the lift disappears up the shaft, a great divider.
On the pod:
Rain On The Scarecrow - John Mellencamp
On the front page:
America decides (The Times)
07/11/2012
On the way:
The elevator arrives, a great equaliser.
Together they have stood, together they have waited, whatever the surface world may hold - a long walk or a Lexus; a rent or a residence; a family or a flop-house - they're all at the mercy of the illuminated arrow and its progress up and down the display panel. Oh, let it point at me. Please let it point at me.
So the lift lands and the loose tangle of people tightens into a knot around the doors as its load disperses out of its other side of the steel box.
Finally it is empty and the doors open up but the knot holds firm as it drags its constituent bodies shuffling into the steel box - five, ten, twenty, maybe thirty as one, unified in a common understanding: we are all human beings together and by the force of our fellow-feeling we will achieve our purpose, to rise to the surface where we belong.
When from the tunnel bursts a figure, the first fresh off the incoming Tube, legs pumping, black coat flapping, left arm flailing, right hanging onto a bouncing, brown leather bag, racing to reach the lift before its doors close.
He's there, he's made it, he stops, he sees the human cordon at the very edge of capacity. It's a line of oblivious backs - there's a green coat, a couple of black ones - and one face, the girl in the cream jacket with the flicked out golden bob, standing side-on and looking out over her bag shoulder. He smiles to himself, the smile of a man who knows he's beaten but he's competed well.
She sees... nothing.
The doors close, separating the upwardly mobile from the moribund, the elevated and the overlooked, and the lift disappears up the shaft, a great divider.
On the pod:
Rain On The Scarecrow - John Mellencamp
On the front page:
America decides (The Times)
Chicken tracks
On the day:
07/11/2012
On the way:
Orange-robed DUD agents sighted to the north, two crouched, examining a rail, one on the lookout for incoming trains.
That's three. Just saying.
Three Sith lords. Two tracks. One train southbound. One train northbound.
Now that's what I call a game of chicken.
This could get interesting.
On the pod:
For America - Jackson Browne
On the front page:
Four more years (The Guardian)
07/11/2012
On the way:
Orange-robed DUD agents sighted to the north, two crouched, examining a rail, one on the lookout for incoming trains.
That's three. Just saying.
Three Sith lords. Two tracks. One train southbound. One train northbound.
Now that's what I call a game of chicken.
This could get interesting.
On the pod:
For America - Jackson Browne
On the front page:
Four more years (The Guardian)
Wednesday 7 November 2012
Words can't express
On the day:
06/11/2012
On the way:
He must be in his mid-teens - not yet a man but no longer a boy - with a high-fringed haircut only a mother could love (and only a father could inflict).
For all the clear blue skies above the bus on a crisp Autumn morning, it looks like a grey morning for him. Not just sartorially - but he is wearing battleship grey sneakers, charcoal tracksuit bottoms, and a dove grey hoodie over another dark grey hoodie, this one with a lumo green drawstring and zip - but also skeletally. His left forearm is covered in a medical green cast extending all the way to the end of his ring and baby fingers.
His forefinger and middle finger are free, though. Well, he'll still need a way to communicate.
On the pod:
Dreaming Of The Queen -Pet Shop Boys
On the front page:
Big business faces tax raid (The Times)
06/11/2012
On the way:
He must be in his mid-teens - not yet a man but no longer a boy - with a high-fringed haircut only a mother could love (and only a father could inflict).
For all the clear blue skies above the bus on a crisp Autumn morning, it looks like a grey morning for him. Not just sartorially - but he is wearing battleship grey sneakers, charcoal tracksuit bottoms, and a dove grey hoodie over another dark grey hoodie, this one with a lumo green drawstring and zip - but also skeletally. His left forearm is covered in a medical green cast extending all the way to the end of his ring and baby fingers.
His forefinger and middle finger are free, though. Well, he'll still need a way to communicate.
On the pod:
Dreaming Of The Queen -Pet Shop Boys
On the front page:
Big business faces tax raid (The Times)
Meaty issue
On the day:
06/11/2013
On the way:
He paces the pavement beside the bus stop, stiff legs in grey jeans.
All-American aviator shades hide eyes intent on the phone in his hand; an all-American barbecue chain advertised on his all-American baseball cap. And under his faux-leather, padded black hoodie is a black T-shirt emblazoned with the same logo.
Now that's some all-American commitment to the cause, right there, y'all.
Or some all-Southeast London addiction, a'ai, init.
On the pod:
Stepped On A Crack - Spin Doctors
On the front page:
Cocaine: The perfect heart attack drug (Metro)
06/11/2013
On the way:
He paces the pavement beside the bus stop, stiff legs in grey jeans.
All-American aviator shades hide eyes intent on the phone in his hand; an all-American barbecue chain advertised on his all-American baseball cap. And under his faux-leather, padded black hoodie is a black T-shirt emblazoned with the same logo.
Now that's some all-American commitment to the cause, right there, y'all.
Or some all-Southeast London addiction, a'ai, init.
On the pod:
Stepped On A Crack - Spin Doctors
On the front page:
Cocaine: The perfect heart attack drug (Metro)
Saturday 3 November 2012
Going underground
On the day:
01/11/2012
On the way:
It's a big deal. Business in the big city, he's come in by train.
He's coming down the escalator from the platform, gazing up at the bright posters, personal assistant in attendance.
She holds the itinerary. And an extra jumper. And a picture book. And the beaker of juice. And the mid-morning snack. And a damp cloth in a Tupperware to wipe his face afterwards. She's thought of everything. She's his fixer. She can sort stuff out.
But for now it's the details he requires: Where's the Underground?'
She gestures towards the entry to the Tube. 'It's there.'
He remains unimpressed. 'Doesn't look very underground,' he observes sceptically.
Fair point, kiddo, but even Mum can't fix that for you.
On the pod:
Smile Like You Mean It - The Killers
On the front page:
Cameron humiliated on eve of EU budget (The Times)
01/11/2012
On the way:
It's a big deal. Business in the big city, he's come in by train.
He's coming down the escalator from the platform, gazing up at the bright posters, personal assistant in attendance.
She holds the itinerary. And an extra jumper. And a picture book. And the beaker of juice. And the mid-morning snack. And a damp cloth in a Tupperware to wipe his face afterwards. She's thought of everything. She's his fixer. She can sort stuff out.
But for now it's the details he requires: Where's the Underground?'
She gestures towards the entry to the Tube. 'It's there.'
He remains unimpressed. 'Doesn't look very underground,' he observes sceptically.
Fair point, kiddo, but even Mum can't fix that for you.
On the pod:
Smile Like You Mean It - The Killers
On the front page:
Cameron humiliated on eve of EU budget (The Times)
Ready to rumble
On the day:
02/11/2011
On the way:
'2015' he murmurs to himself, incomprehensibly, in a low growl that the the local mutts might take as an offer of fisticuffs. There's more - gripes along the lines of 'Come on let's go' exhorting the driver to get a move on; the occasional ungrateful 'About time' when the bus pulls out - but mostly its too soft for even the hounds to make out actual words, if indeed they exist. In fact, the rumbling doesn't stop.
He not a small man, dark eyes staring disapprovingly out of a fleshy face topped with an outstanding mass of curly wet-sandy brown hair. His upper body is swathed in arctic fleece - black for the sweatshirt, olive green for the jacket - slate-grey trousers with the occasional white smudge cover his legs and he has light brown leather loafers on his feet.
Burger bun hands rest in his lap, but every time the bus stops his bright red upmarket supermarket Chistmas bag swings from fingers tipped with pointed nails as his torso lurches forward, squeezing a monosyllable from his lips.
You can hear that one. It starts with a 'c'.
On the pod:
Undivided - Bon Jovi
On the front page:
Hangover patch is 'a license to booze' (Metro)
02/11/2011
On the way:
'2015' he murmurs to himself, incomprehensibly, in a low growl that the the local mutts might take as an offer of fisticuffs. There's more - gripes along the lines of 'Come on let's go' exhorting the driver to get a move on; the occasional ungrateful 'About time' when the bus pulls out - but mostly its too soft for even the hounds to make out actual words, if indeed they exist. In fact, the rumbling doesn't stop.
He not a small man, dark eyes staring disapprovingly out of a fleshy face topped with an outstanding mass of curly wet-sandy brown hair. His upper body is swathed in arctic fleece - black for the sweatshirt, olive green for the jacket - slate-grey trousers with the occasional white smudge cover his legs and he has light brown leather loafers on his feet.
Burger bun hands rest in his lap, but every time the bus stops his bright red upmarket supermarket Chistmas bag swings from fingers tipped with pointed nails as his torso lurches forward, squeezing a monosyllable from his lips.
You can hear that one. It starts with a 'c'.
On the pod:
Undivided - Bon Jovi
On the front page:
Hangover patch is 'a license to booze' (Metro)
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