The Queen's speech

On the day: 
23/12/2012 

On the way: 
The Queen is back, the Kipper Williams cartoon version that is - Jean spotted her this time, patrolling the patch past the bus stop. 
Up the pavement she goes, disguised in civvies, seeing how the other 96 per cent live, no doubt, wrapped in a voluminous brown faux fur coat reaching to her ankles, her feet in two-tone trainers, a canary yellow headscarf offering pale shelter from the rain. Up the pavement and down again.
And if she mumbles to herself as she goes - and I'm not saying she does because she's the Queen and you've got to show a little respect, even when she's in mufti - maybe that's because she's busy rehearsing her speech for Tuesday.
Or maybe she's saying, "Where are one's bothersome corgis? That's the last time one lets Phillip go walking them on his own. Init."

On the pod: 

Only good for conversation - Rodriguez 

On the front page: Mitchell: Police destroyed me (The Times)  

Well are you getting it?

On the day: 
21/12/2012 

On the way: 
The buses are running, most of them, the trains are on track, even the aeroplanes are still taking off. Are travellers satisfied? No. Satisfied is what they are not.
Well, fair number of them may be, but not the would-be interstellar commuters who gathered in a French village counting on an appearance by aliens to airlift them away from the impending apocalypse.
And as for the picture of the grumpy-looking cat with the caption 'Still here, worst apocalyse ever'... typical. People always reckon the current apocalypse is the worst ever. 'Oh apocalypses aren't what they were in my day. They knew how to stage an apocalypse when I was a kid.' 
Come on, people. Past apocalypses have been every bit as rubbish - the turn of the millennium was hardly the conflagration we had come to expect. If any one of the previous ones had done what they said on the tin (aisle 12 - they're on special, three for the price of two), people wouldn't be standing around whinging about it today. 
Can't we just accept our lot and embrace today's apocalypse for it's own unique qualities? I think Sister Christina of Aguilera put it best: It is beautiful, no matter what they say, words can't bring it down. 

On the pod: 
Fairytale Of New York -The Pogues and Kirsty MacColl 

On the front page: 
Mitchell blasts Met chief (The Times)

Wednesday, gonna fall off

On the day: 
19/12/2012 

On the way: 
London Bridge is not falling down. It's steady and sturdy and all those things that have nothing to do with falling down. But that's not the experience of the balding man in the black City coat who is hanging precariously from his umbrella in the gently falling rain. 
The air is still and the pavement broad and flat but still he seems to be drawn by forces to which he alone is subject, inexorably towards the road. Then, on the verge of disaster, the tar mac beckoning, he veers back on course, just barely staying on the safe side of the kerb. 
The refreshtive season - this time of year, every night's a Friday for somebody. 

On the pod: 
Two Princes - Spin Doctors 

On the front page: 
We've ad it up to here, Instagram! (Metro)

Thin pins

On the day: 
19/12/2012 

On the way: 
Those are skinny legs, them, stretching from blocky black brothelcreepers with thick soles and two-tone leopard-print uppers,  all the way up to jeans torn off at the crotch. It's a mercy that the wind isn't blowing too hard this evening or they might snap. 
But no, it's just cold. And wet. Cold and wet. So black stockings, a thigh-length black coat, and a black beanie worn tall like the hat on an eighth dwarf or on Dappy out of N-Dubz (which is pretty-much the same fing, yeh), have their work cut out for them. 
It's a carefully constructed look - all poppy-eyes with Amy Winehouse eyeliner, long, straight blonde hair and chipped coral fingernails - and one that is sure to grab the attention of pallid twilit youths, Tim Burton toon . 
Or Gollum. 

On the pod: 
Torch - Soft Cell 

On the front page: 
'Dark side' of Savile known at BBC (London Evening Standard)

Suspicious minds

On the day: 
14/12/2012 

On the way: 
Why does he look at me that way - distrustful from under heavy lids? 
I've seen him before - his frizzy bush of hair, his fleshy face, hands and fingers with pointy little nails. He's sitting in his customary seat at the back left of the lower deck, mumbling occasionally and a blue plastic bag hangs down between substantial thighs in green khaki trousers. And there are the dark brown loafers that will carry him off at the hospital or the shopping centre or something ... But that look? 
What's that about? Does he imagine I'm writing something about him on my phone? 
That's it. He's planning to come over and grab it. Or worse. 
He's shifting. He's about to stand up. And his hand is in the pocket of his navy fleece. What's he got in there? A knife? A gun? 
Yikes, I'm getting off the bus right here. 
Wow. What a weirdo. Could he be more paranoid?  

On the pod: 
America - Simon and Garfunkel 

On the front page: 
Winehouse's ex in anonymity plea as he is cleared of rape (Metro)

Mo problems

On the day: 
14/12/2012 

On the way: 
Hey you. Yes you in the burgundy quilted Armani windcheater and the Ralph Lauren beanie pulled over your eyebrows. 
I don't wish to interrupt your top-secret, sotto voce, in-ear mobile phone conversation, but I had to draw your attention that barely perceptible, carefully mown, futile strip of yellow lip lawn you have? I mean, you are aware November is over? 

On the pod: 
Loch Lomond (live) - Runrig 

On the front page: 
Disgraced editor gets £11million handshake (Metro)

Make mine Marple

On the day: 
12/12/2012  

On the way: 
Her frame is slight and slightly bent under her calf-length woollen coat that protects old bones against the. December cold. Her gloved hands are settled on the red check wheelie bag in front of her - practical but, one suspects, not essential. 
Because beneath the circular, evenly sloping brim of her chocolate brown hat, sharp blue eyes peer out, not missing a single thing. 
It looks like something's afoot and Miss Marple is on the case. 

On the pod: 
Say You'll Be There - The Spice Girls 

On the front page: 
Gays are left at the altar (Metro)

Hey Jude

On the day:
11/12/2012

On the way:
Almost it never ever happens.

You run for a bus you have no chance of catching, panting a prayer to Saint Jude, steam puffed and blown like incense smoke into the icy morning air. And just as your stride slows in defeat, you realise a second bus is on patrol directly behind it - like police officers, someone must have been waiting a long time for one -  tapping you on the shoulder and saying "'Allo, 'allo, 'allo. Whered'you think you're going?"
Then, "Oh, Lewisham station. Well come on, then." Which is less scary.
And the race is on, the buses taking on and overtaking  at stops. Who needs Formula 1? This competition runs five days a week, all year round.
Just a few stops to go, and we're holding on to the lead...

On the pod:The Fallen - Franz Ferdinand

On the front page:
Winehouse ex 'raped friend twice' (Metro)

So what's worse... (1)

On the day: 
07/12/2012 

On the way: 
So what's worse... 
You board the train to see there's only one seat free in the carriage, so you take it with relief, and it's only when you stand up and step out into the zero-degree night that you realise the seat of your trousers is wet and you have a 20-minute walk home... 
Or...? [feel free to jump in here] 

On the pod: 
Waltzing Along - James 

On the front page: 
Nurse who took Kate prank call found dead (London Evening Standard)

Dead weight

On the day: 
06/12/2012 

On the way: 
Now, you may be wearing a well-worn a paisley silk cravat and reading the latest issue of the New Scientist. You may even have a noble, aquiline nose, soulful Morten Harket eyes in dark blue and a mature but well-groomed beard. And a bald patch at the centre of your silvering mane. 
But if you're sitting there in a flat-brimmed leather hat and a long black coat that reaches more than half way down your black jeans. And wearing a black waistcoat with a fob-watch chain hanging out of its pocket, over your deep burgundy shirt. 
And more to the point, if you're carrying a heavy, studded wooden box about three feet long and one foot deep, with edges scuffed and surfaces scraped - in the shape of a coffin.
Well, you're going to raise some suspicion. 

On the pod: 
Slight Return - The Bluetones 

On the front page: 
Disabled hit back over benefits cut (The Times)

On the subject: http://andhisthoughtsarefullofstrangers.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/homeward-bound.html

Homeward bound

On the day: 
05/12/2012 

On the way: 
If you've got a flat-brimmed leather hat and a long black coat that reaches more than half way down your black jeans. If you're wearing a black waistcoat with a fob-watch chain hanging out of its pocket, over your deep burgundy shirt. 
And if you have a well-worn a paisley silk cravat and you're reading the latest issue of the New Scientist. And if you're carrying a studded wooden box about three feet long and one foot deep in the shape of a coffin with edges scuffed and surfaces scraped from years of service to music. 
And of course it helps if you have a noble aquiline nose, soulful Morten Harket eyes in dark blue and a mature but well-groomed beard. 
Well, then, no one is going to worry about the bald patch at the centre of your silvering mane.
Now where can I get me summa dat? 

On the pod: 
High - Stabbing Westward 

On the front page: 
Better than carbon neutral (New Scientist)

On the subject: http://andhisthoughtsarefullofstrangers.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/dead-weight.html

Still fizz

On the day: 
03/12/2012 

On the way: 
'Ja ameen. Ah can say wha' ah wanna say bu' ah can make it concise,' says the young man in the white fluffy jumper with the Christmassy embroidered bits at the bottom as he boards the train, mobile phone clamped to his ear. The final 's' fizzes with a satisfied sibillance. 
He's still fizzing when he gets off four stops later. 
For all I know he's fizzing still. 

On the pod: 
Hallelujah - Rufus Wainwright 

On the front page: 
Kate expectations (Metro)

A bus in time

On the day: 
02/12/2012 

On the way: 
So he caught the bus - by the look of him it would seem on some rural road in the first half of last century - and he's placidly seated at the back. 
Under his houndstooth flat cap - reddish brown and dark brown checks on a tan base - his close cropped white hair can be seen above and behind proud ears. His mild gaze is heavy-lidded with the weight of pastoral contentment and his head melts into a sturdy stem contained by the collar of his houndstooth jacket - chocolate brown and grey-blue on tan. 
And over his houndstooth-print shirt - simple blue-grey (it is different, okay?) - a cream cardie, presumably knitted with wool from the sheep on his farm, which he left what seems like a lifetime ago to catch the omnibus into town, hoping to purchase a new butter churn for his wife for Christmas. 
Maybe it was a lifetime ago (the buses today, tsk), or maybe Southeastern Rail has finally got the long-awaited temporal warp service up and running at Chelsfield. 
Either way, he's in for a shock when he gets off Lewisham market. 

On the pod: 
Equality (live) - Howard Jones 

On the front page: 
Brawl on M1 as two die in 140mph 'race' (London Evening Standard)

Fit for heaven

On the day: 
30/11/2011 

On the way: 
"Last chance," they threaten, the two guerilla gymhadists, ambushing innocent passers-by outside the station. "Join Fitness First now. It's your LAST CHANCE." 
Last chance? What? It's going to stop recruiting new adherents? Is that a threat or a promise?
And if I join, how many virgins will I get once I have ascended to the Cardio Theatre? And what if I take the platinum membership? How many virgins do I get then? And if I don't, what then? Will the god of squat thrusts and spinning throw me into the eternal flames of damnation? Feel the burn.
Ah, to hell with it. I think I'll take my chances with an infidel doughnut and hot chocolate. With extra whipped cream.

On the pod: 

Left My Heart In Tokyo - Mini Viva 

On the front page: 

Prince hails Standard's 'inspirational leadership' as he becomes patron of our apprentice appeal (London Evening Standard - of course)