So, here I am again trying to give up fags. The main reason is that I am going to become a father and I don’t really want the baby inhaling my cigarettes (sponging bastard).
Haven’t written on here for a while as I couldn’t be bothered and I’ve had other projects I have been occupied with- I don’t have the time or the energy to go into now. Also, I’ve moved a long way from the 43 bus route and, although a brilliant concept, the blog may not follow the earlier template.
I started a three month NHS smoking cessation program yesterday. They have given me patches and an inhaler thing but it’s still hell.
Tokyo Cowboy has nominated me for The Awesome Blogger Award~
“This is an award for the absolutely wonderful writers all across the blogging world. They have beautiful blogs, are kind and lovely, and always find a way to add happiness and laughter to the lives of their readers. That is what truly defines an awesome blogger.” Created by Miss Maggie @ Dreaming of Guatemala.
I can only assume that this is irony on Tokyo Cowboys’s part. I haven’t got around to it yet but I’ll try to in the near future. You really should check out his posts. Most of them will take a proper tea break to read but well worth it. If you are incapable of reading that many words, lack the intellect or cannot sustain concentration for longer then a few seconds, there is a thing called Twitter…
I know that you have been on the edge of your seats waiting to hear the results of the scan (I know you haven’t and I feel that a lot of people I know, in the real world, were pretty nonplussed about the news but just regurgitate the same well-trodden congratulations and mock excitement I have falsified in the past).
Knife crime has grabbed all the headlines recently and SW asked if we were still sure about bringing up a child in London – he may join a gang… I think, as does SW, that it’s good for children to experience different cultures. I wouldn’t want a child of mine (G’N’F’N’R) to grow up in a small-minded community.
The automated voice just announced that the next stop is North Greenwich, my prompt to finish reading the page and eye my escape route from the confined underground pod. The carriage is populated by all races* and every walk of life. Two men are sat in the seats next to me, holding hands.** At the far end there is a black girl sat with her white girlfriend on her lap, they kiss. We have a Muslim mayor and a female premier, it’s not a bad time or place to live (although it seems the prime minister is trying hard to change that.)
*I maybe shouldn’t have noticed that people had different skin colours, I don’t think I do usually, but the idea of raising a child in a multicultural society was fresh in my mind.
**Disappointingly, the couple next to me were both white but I think one was German so that shows some kind of progressiveness ?
I think we do need to ‘tackle knife crime’ but I feel it has been sensationalised by the press for commercial gain. There have always been instances of knife crime in our culture. Two that immediately spring to mind are; the Mods and Rockers who used to carve up each other every weekend at seaside resorts up and down the country and the account of the Brighton gangs in Graham Greene’s Brighton Rock (although fictional, it conveyed the fear of the time (citation needed).
Got an email from a guy with a terminal illness and wants to give his money to charity. I am the first to admit that I’m cynical at times but then you hear from someone like this and realise that not everyone is motivated by greed.
Happy Christmas to you all x
I was bored of the format/template I had adopted (each bus stop on the 43 route, north to south) and I was thinking that I may give up the experiment.
But, tonight, I met up with an old friend at London Bridge (the other end of the route (I will recount tomorrow)) and I thought I could maybe start my posts afresh from the other end of the journey or, perhaps, post from different stops along the way but not in any form of sequence.
Not sure how this will play out but tomorrow I will be posting from the last stop of the journey.
Last week SW did some kind of test in work were you get assigned a colour to show what kind of manager you are. The results came back are she is apparently a yellow/green. I think that it meant that she was keen to make everyone happy, she craved the praise of others and was very supportive to those who she managed. I thought it a load of nonsense. She told me I was a red. Impatient, full steam ahead, get the job done.
She mentioned it again yesterday as we were packing boxes before our move on Friday. I was going through the kitchen appliances and throwing out the ones we didn’t need, cutting of the plugs in case they were needed in future, and quickly packing the wanted appliances in the box. I was telling her that I thought the colour thing was complete nonsense when I snipped of the plug to the fridge.
I know I said I was giving the blog a rest but I’ve started this thing now. You never know, it might be one of the few things in my life that I have followed through to completion. Not much of an achievement you may think but you obviously can’t see genius when you read it.
So the bus stop is on the A1, on a straggly strip with a few shops, in between destinations. There are, obviously, several corner shop/off-licence type places and a large derelict Victorian pub. I try to imagine what it would have been like in its hay day; packed, rowdy, singing, a couple of old girls in a quiet corner exchanging gossip, a man with a Jack Russel on a piece of frayed rope, a table with men playing dice or Cribbage, obligatory busty barmaids.
The floors above the bar have been turned into flats. You see this quite often in London. The developers are refused planning permission to change the use from public house to a residential property. This is a good thing but if the places are left empty then it kind of defeats the object. I guess not as so many use their ‘local’ anymore and the overheads, mainly business rates, are too high for potential landlords and ladies to stand a chance. Pubs used to be the heart of the community and it’s a real shame they aren’t anymore, or that there aren’t any communities left. Could we rebrand pubs as ‘Community Central Hubs’ and make them cooperatives or social enterprises without the council rates?
I hope the bus comes soon as I can’t feel my fingers and I think my nose is running but my face is so cold I can’t feel it either. I am stood next to a gluten free pizza place for warmth. There is a Primal Scream song playing behind the closed door. I haven’t seen Bobby Gillespie on my bus home recently. Does he go into hibernation this time of year like a small woodland animals? I need to buy gloves.
*had a second look and it’s probably Edwardian
As you, the few of you that keep looking in on my little blog, will see, I have not posted anything for a little time now. My mind is too busy at the moment and, although I consider this venture both creative and worthwhile, I think I will have to concentrate on other project for a while.
I saw that someone had posted a poem on this site and I thought I would do likewise in the hope of gaining readers. My poem is about rail travel and not in London but I hope you will forgive the fact that it isn’t about the number 43 bus.
Genre: Travel (England)
an hour to wait
Walk a circular mile
No beer house in sight
Minutes take hours
Red diesel fumes
Sickly sweet perfume
Chopped ham and liver