Disgruntled Commuter

17.11.07 18:37


Conversations I...

...... no longer have to have:

'So what's the url then?'

'well, it's www dot 20six ...'

'twenty-six?'

'No, twenty as in two oh ...'

'26?'

'No, then six as in s-i-x, dot co, dot uk forward-slash ...'

'www.two-ohsix.co.uk...'

'No that ... ah, look I'll just write it down for you'

'So you're at www.20gic.co.uk... is that a d?'

I couldn't do much about my handwriting, but I could sort out my domain. Which is why I'm now here . And I've put a link on my sidebar too. Come and join me over on the dark side for more tales of commuting woe and the odd biblical plague of frogs...

15.7.07 17:13


Just a Quick Reminder ...

... that I am no longer blogging here, I'm here, where the usual daily diet of disgruntlement continues.

 Please update your links and feeds and bookmarks and come and join the fun.

25.6.07 18:32


Disgruntled Blogger

So this is it. I feel strangely guilty, but I'm leaving 20six and going here . It's been a fun two years, but I think I've outgrown this place.

Please update your links and feeds and come and join me at my blogwarming ...
16.6.07 15:31


Throwing Money Around


Things I get asked: 'Is this the London Road?', 'How do I get to Vauxhall?', 'Can you spare any change?'

Things the other half gets asked: 'Oi, mate, scuse me, which of these coins is closest to the wall?'

Now, I could have answered that one, but not perhaps with the other half's good natured air of impartiality and aplomb. They must have known he was an accountant, and used to making judgements about money (although I personally might have discovered that the coin belonging to the really large and scary looking lad was, on closer inspection, that fraction nearer to the wall). This does at least answer the question of what the gang of youths who are always hanging out on the way home from the Elephant find to amuse themselves. They're playing pitch penny, only with pound coins: gambling, and underage too - I'm shocked. I always assumed they were selling drugs...
15.6.07 20:55


Sodding Typical

I took the tube to the Barbican today because when I woke up my little legs were tired after all their adventures yesterday. It's a shame nobody mentioned that to the lifts at the Elephant which chose this morning to break down. I'd mind it less if they weren't the lifts that said 'Stand clear of the doors please' in a really irritated tone of voice, and that's before anyone's even tried holding the doors open. I do think that if you're going to put in passive-aggressive machinery into your public transport system, you should try and ensure it works reliably before it starts getting all stroppy on the paying customer (or in the case of Elephant and Castle, the leaping over the barrier customer). But maybe that's just me?
14.6.07 17:29


Lost in Barb Space


It should have been an easy journey. I had to be at the Barbican for a 9:30 start. A quick cycle ride down the South Bank, leave the bike at Tate Modern, brisk walk over the Millennium Bridge and through the City and you're there. No sweltering tube, no oyster cards, no fuss, no mess, no cost. What I hadn't accounted for in this plan was what would happen once I got to the Barbican. In fact, my journey broke down as follows:

Cycle down South Bank: 10 minutes

Find Bike rack: 2 minutes (hello, Tate Modern, three bike racks is pathetic - even Kew Bridge station does better than that ...)

Cross River and walk through City: 20 minutes

Navigate through Barbican to my destination: What felt like the rest of my life

I'd obviously been fooled by all those newspaper articles about how much better signposted the Barbican had become these days. That's better signposted as in better than, say, Hampton Court Maze. Not as in actually easy to navigate. Fortunately, before I was condemned to spend a second night wandering the raised walkways and baffling spaces of the Barbican, I happened on a helpful woman having a fag outside one of the doors who, noticing my complete and utter lostness, gave me directions. Once the new smoking directives come in, she'll presumably have to go all the way out of the complex to smoke and I and people like me will never escape its toils.

Anyway I was pleased to notice that the pedant's army has an international division operating in London. The Barbican Ladies' loos have quadrilingual signs telling you what to do with your (chaps please look away now) sanitary items. I noticed in the one I was in that the French version had been carefully corrected. Truly a better class of graffitti...
13.6.07 18:44


 [next page]