Choo Choo

"This journey may be delayed."

- jawj

Having a Giraffe

"You must think I’m some kind of fucking arsehole.”

I've no doubt that, in years which have yet to pass, others & I will look back with longing at having paid more than half-an-hour's pay for a pint o' piss. Perhaps, one day, I'll look back with longing at a time when I was paid a pittance for a job with only an average amount of stress attached.

Halcyon days.

- jawj

Sitting in an English Garden

Other than waiting for the inevitable rain to come, the cat & I are watching parrots eat cherries. It's a funny old world.

Well, I say the cat & I are birdwatching, but this scarface here is really only watching his catty dreams go by:

- jawj

More Journeying

Morning
Today started, as many, happily, do, with a feline rendezvous outside the back door. There is a great deal to commend such time as is spent watching the clouds scud past whilst stroking a small, fluffy, mammal. The mutual benefit is undeniable, and, though I can't communicate exactly what the cat was cognating, I, for one, am spiritually & mentally enriched by the times we spend together. He hangs around waiting for me, so I think I'm doing something correctly.
As all things must pass, it was too soon time to frappé la rue. The day's first misfortune, other than the alarm clock sounding, was the impressive, unseen &  really rather rapid change in weather between one side of the house & the other: partial cloud to pissing down in just a few short strides. Bollocks.
So on with the oilskins and just get on with it.
Predictably, within five kilometres the rain had stopped, the clouds were thinning and I was sweating like a hippo at noon. A quick nip into Dulwich Park brought relief in the form of stripping off the (allegedly) breathable waterproofs. What a swizz Gore-Tex is. Something of a chilly ride after that, but that's always preferable to boil-in-the-bag.

Evening
Work done (W), and another bike ride awaited. This one was uncomfortable from the start; downing a couple of small beers before heading out is not a terribly clever idea.
Immediate indigestion gradually subsided into increasingly urgently needing to empty the soluble waste tank. Suburban London, particularly the South Circular, affords few opportunities for a sly slash, so it was not until the journey was well over half-done that the chance presented itself. A quick nip into Dulwich Park brought relief in the form of watering a shrubbery.
I've piddled in a few picturesque places, and while Dulwich Park in the dark is certainly atmospheric, it doesn't have much of a view.
...unless you happen to pissing toward the South at just the right time:

By complete chance, the highly distinctive, steadily shining, deceptively slow-moving star that is the International Space Station happened to be visible exactly where I looked up in relief. I would urge everyone to follow the link below to see when you might be able to catch a glimpse of a permanently crewed base in outer space travelling at more than 27500km/h. It could do my journey to work in about 4 seconds.
There's nothing quite like experiencing one of the Wonders of the Modern World (along with such things as vaccines, efficient mass crop production, increasingly efficient air travel & GPS) to buoy one's motivation on an arduous journey. And to arrive home to find the cat being extra fluffy & friendly, well, that just made the day for a wannabe crazy cat lady like me.

FAQ
"But how do you know it's the ISS?"
Admittedly, until I arrived home and looked it up on spotthestation, I didn't know it for sure. Having seen it many times before, it does become quite distinctive: it's too slow to be a meteor, not flashy enough to be an aircraft, too bright to be (almost) any other satellite, visible for too long to be an Iridium flare; though it could have been aliens. Take 5 minutes out of a night when it'll be visible where you are and get acquainted with the glow.

"ZOMG, how do I know where & when I can see this miracle of engineering!?"
http://spotthestation.nasa.gov/sightings/index.cfm

- jawj

The Law of the Sod

Walking.
Shoes too small.
Wishing I'd come by bike.
Cannon Street closed (as I bloody-well should o' known it would be at this bloody time).
Walking.
Shoes still too small.
Signal fault at London Bridge (as I bloody-well should have pessimistically predicted on such an evening as bloody this).
Really wishing I'd come by bike.
Running.
Terrible idea at any time (except, of course, unless velociraptors are involved).
Additionally, shoes still to small.
Bus late.
Bus slow.
Scheduled bus times appear to be based on noöne ever joining or alighting.
Passengers are an inconvenience, evidently.
Really, really wishing I'd come by bike.
Happily though, I have drunk too much coffee & tea for this time of night, so I shalln't be waking up in Bellingham.
Bus stops at Lewisham Shopping Centre rather than Lewisham Police Station, i.e. it deposits us in a wretched hive of scum & villainy.
By my various gods, I cannot begin to describe how much I am wishing I'd come by bike.
Walking.
On another bus.
Walking.
Attempting to enter house silently.
Oh what's that? I made plum crumble earlier in the day? It's matured beautifully? Plumble™, get thee down my oesophagus.

- jawj

How I Wish You Were Here on an Island in the Sun

I don't play guitar, but if I did, I'd struggle to choose between the accessorising of...

Gilmour or...

...Cuomo.

I don't imagine this will ever actually be an issue, but it's rather pleasant to dream of these two lovely chaps and their skillz. Innit.

Unique

Everyone's always harping on about how each & every snowflake is utterly singular with not a match for it in the world.

I've never heard anyone say the same, though it is true, about popcorn.

- jawj

Lyrics: Travis - Luv

Grrrr.... can't stand badly transcribed lyrics, especially to heartwrenchingly heartwarming songs. Let's make a dent in the mess.

What's so wrong, why the face so long?
Is it over?
And where you going that you no longer belong here?

And distance tells you that distance must come between love,
Where have you been, Luv?
When the mistake we made,
Was in never having planned to fall in love, Luv.

Singing this song, singing along,
Makes it easier for me to see you go,
But in doing so, in letting you go,
It only serves to show me that I'm still in love with you...

Singing this song, singing along,
Makes it easier for me to see you go,
But in doing so, in letting you go,
It only serves to show me that I'm still in love with you...

So what's so wrong, why the face so long?
Are you changing?
And where you been to that you no longer remember?

And distance tells you that distance must come between love,
Where have you been, Luv?
When the mistake we made,
Was in never having planned to fall in love, Luv.

It's just the chance we took,
Having never ever planned to fall in love, Luv.
It's just the chance we took,
Having never ever planned to fall in love, Luv.

During reading of Frank Herbert's 'Dune'

I defy anyone, anyone at all, to not suffer unquenchable thirst.

- jawj

5 As, 3 Bs, a C & a D

Cycling home today..
Stand By Me comes on.
Ponder Be Here Now.
The year it was released.
That was 15 years ago.
The day it was released...
Woah, that was the twenty-something of August.
So...
The 15th anniversary is approaching.
Wait, Be Here Now was released on the 21st of August (a Thursday).
(Checks watch) - It's the 21st.
Jesus, today is the 15th anniversary of the release of Be Here Now. And GCSE results.
A significant day, mainly for the music...
(Went to school. got results, delivered results to dad [who was so shocked that he would have to pay out the cash promised for decent results that he backed into and cracked a mirror], went to Magpie Records, bought Be Here Now, headed to Wooly's, put it on and simultaneously made a copy on tape, lost in the music, magic day...)
They say Be Here Now was Oasis's worst album, mainly as it had a lot to live up to.
Don't tell anyone, but Be here Now is my favourite Oasis album. All the songs are wonderful and fits together beautifully.

This seems appropriate:

Bit of a tear-jerker actually.

Sampling

In the summer of 1989, Alice Cooper released a single of some musical significance. The song was 'Poison', and it's full impact & influence would not be felt for 22 years...

The single sold well around the world, apparently even attaining the #1 position in the Yugoslav charts, but it was held from that coveted place in the UK by... Jive Bunny & The Mastermixers. As an adult, and ardent admirer of Alice's art, to look back at my childhood and ownership of at least two Jive Bunny albums during the late eighties is... embarrassing. Did I really once prefer remixed golden swing and rock 'n' roll to the blinding bastion of brilliance that is hard rock? I blame the parents.

Moving on, and having already brought shame upon my name once, it seems but a small step to admitting to rather liking this piece of cheese:

(And for the bike geeks, look out for the left-hand-drive blooper at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JRfuAukYTKg&t=1m47s...)

Good riff, huh? Catchy, no? Played a little air guitar there did we? It certainly sticks in my head for hours and days afterwards. Long enough, in fact, so that the next time 'Poison' was played, 47 seconds in, I had a bit of a revelation:

So dance music trumps rock in the charts, initially, but then, if not actually sampled, relies upon it for a hook 22 years on. I guess one could say...

So endeth the lesson.

Oh, go on then...

Interminable Transit

Truly perfect spring weather
+
Potential "fuel shortage"
=
Less people using private motorised transport
One would think. Why the opposite appears true is something of a conundrum.
Relatedly: this.

- jawj

BST

Seven Months Of Summer start here & now!

If only this fact could have been recalled last night I perhaps would be a little less late for work...

Actually, it has been a rather trying week what with earlier being egged by a gang of, it turned out, wholly unrepentant underclass subhumans and then riding my bike into the back of a car yesterday.

Still, Seven Months Of Summer!

Rebranding

When one wakes to to a window containing an unexpected vision of a realised utopian future, a view that frames no less than thirty-six cranes and a constant flow of widebody jetliners, one wonders what wonders the future has left to reveal.

But, wonderous bollocks aside, I would like to rename Europe's tallest building: after, and in honour of, the Swiss Re Cucumis sativus I bestow the title of 'Swiss Chard' upon this spire.

Mmmm... gherkins & beet tops; I wonder what delicious vegetable will be the next to grace the London skyline's garden of Earthly delights.

Worth The Effort

To sprint yer arse off for a train and make it with seconds to spare: is there anything more gladdening?

Also, the imaginary band's new name is now 'Ply Faced Chip'.

Treating myself

Today, I fed some pigeons.

An Apology

Those who have engaged in any sort of moderately strenuous aerobic physical activity, particularly in the colder months, will perhaps be familiar with the need to expel, on occasion, a snot rocket. Unfortunately it is necessary, but not pleasant, hence why I always try to be away from pedestrians' sight & hearing when launching.

Just two days ago, riding home in the dark, I committed such a rocket to the ground. It was not the first or last that was launched that day, but it was the first to be witnessed: at T+1 second I noticed a person in the vicinity, just across the road.

A cheery wave in their direction.
A call of "Sorry!".
A cheeky & embarrassed grin.
A quick wipe of the nostrils.
A glance back in their direction.
A gap in the fog.

I had apologised to a parking meter.

Foolish Frangos

To be found in Kingston upon Thames:

 Nope, you feckless purveyors of carbonised poultry,
I think you'll find that "The World's Favourite Chicken" is actually this chicken:

'The Day I Killed A Pigeon' or, 'Why I'm Vegan'

Fucking crows. I used to have a bit of respect for them; they're intelligent and rather majestic birds with those black feathers and that huge, out-of-proportion deep, dark beak. Then a week ago I saw what that beak was for.

Riding to work the other day, through Wimbledon "Village", having survived the kick-in-the-balls that is Wimbledon Hill, there was something aflutter on the pavement: a pigeon, that must have been hit by a car, but not killed, harassed by a crow. Even from across the road the blood was evident.

"Jesus...", I thought, and rode on.

But not for long. I couldn't leave the fat little wood pigeon to suffer a slow death at the beak of that murder of one. "Come about", came the order and I went back to the scene. The crow had pissed off, the cowardly devil, leaving blood splashed across the pavement and the pigeon to ineffectually attempt to flee from my approach. I'm no ornithologist (though neither was this guy) but I could see the pigeon was broken. Fucking cars. And the fucking crow had left its mark in the form of a deep wound on the back of the pigeon's neck; interesting from an anatomy point of view what with muscles and perhaps bones visible, but probably of interest to the pigeon for different reasons.

<melodrama>I knew what I had to do.</melodrama>

It was quite quiet that early in the morning at the weekend, but there were still a few people about and I was strangely ashamed of what was coming with them around so I hesitated to act. A lady approached and saw the pigeon flapping at my feet. She concernedly asked after its well-being and the blood. I expressed that it had been hit by a car and that yes, it did look pecked at by the crow that hanging around.

"What are you going to do? Kill it?"
I nodded.
Grimly, "Good luck."

As she walked away I knelt down over the pigeon and rested my right hand on its back. It tensed and stopped flapping, sensing a predator it could not fight off. Comforting, cooing words would have been lost on a wild animal and merely prolonged the time of suffering. Pressing on its back, with its small head between my fingers, I twitched my left hand out and felt a pathetic little parting of vertebrae. The whole body immediately went limp, the head lolling, the feathers near there ruffled and separated on the extended neck.

Like words of reassurance before being euthanised, a decent burial would have meant nothing to the bird, and I had to get away anyway. I didn't feel sick, or disgusted, or proud, or cruel, or merciful, just... weird. I mean, I knew I had to do it and don't regret it but it was the only vertebrate I've ever intentionally killed and it felt, as I say, weird.

I thought of nothing else for the rest of the ride to work, and throughout the day. Cycling home took me past the site again and I was slightly shocked to see the pigeon's body still there, but in a different position to the one I had left it in. There was a niggle in the back of my mind that perhaps I hadn't killed it, only stunned it; after all, what did I know about slaughtering animals. I should have made sure it was dead... I forced myself to dismiss the idea; someone had likely just toed the pigeon toward the back of the pavement to spare the sensibilities of Wimbledon's women & children. It didn't look eaten either probably because the craven carrion crow couldn't get near it as the day's traffic increased.

---

A strange day for a vegan, that's for sure. I had killed a creature, and I'd intended to, but there was consolation in that I did not feel I had stepped outside my personal vegan mandate (lah-dee-dah).

Recently a conversation arose with a new acquaintance on the subject of why I am vegan. I must admit I am never very good initially at fielding that question, despite having, understandably, to face it fairly regularly; my first thought when the topic arises is a restraining order in my brain placed upon my mouth from merely blurting out "Well, why aren't you vegan?!" which would merely sound militantly supercilious. So I composed my thoughts and fell back upon my one true reason for renouncing animal products: it is how I reduce the amount of suffering in the world.
The pigeon was suffering, its suffering was silenced, the amount of suffering in the world was reduced.

Bizarrely, I quite like the fact that the first, and hopefully, last animal I killed was a pigeon, being as how they are my favourite animals. Even in such circumstances, to help a favoured critter felt as though I was giving something back to the species that entertains me so.

Relatedly, it brings up the issue of the speeding that occurs through the area. A 20mph speed limit wouldn't go amiss; I'm sure my life wouldn't be the only one to be greatly improved with a London-wide residential 20mph limit, especially with all the schools around. Won't someone think of the children, etc.

Oh, bollocks to it.

I was most of the way through composing a fine piece of work (well, I thought it was rather fine), when this delightful blogging software's interface failed to recognise a simple, universal command: apparently, Ctrl+Z is interpreted by Blogger as "delete the whole of the text and then save"...

Therefore, I can no longer be arsed to write about life-saving inventions and rant about pathetic motorists; a mixed blessing if ever there was one.


It's something of a relief actually, akin to desisting with that facebook. It's one less thing for me to pressure myself into doing. Next step: keep phone on silent in bag and only use it to check train times


Adeus.


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