Metro user guide

For those of you that use the metro, whether regularly or occasionally, please remind yourselves of the rules. The rules are simple and sensible, if we all remember them then travelling becomes a lot easier.

1 – There is only one speed and that speed is fast. This is not a museum trip or an art gallery, keep moving.
They put maps on the wall for a reason, if you need to consult one stand to one side. The pocket map/smartphone app/ guidebook is not for use in the middle of the concourse.

2 – The words “seek assistance” are self explanatory, do as they say. Feeding your dog eared ticket through the reader multiple times will not change the result.

3 – There is a time for stopping it’s when you arrive. Do not stop in the middle of a crowd, there is no reason to and the result is likely to hurt.

4 – You cannot multi-task. Male or female, young or old you cannot, please accept this simple fact. You can’t use your smartphone, camera, makeup or anything else whilst walking.

5 – We’re all going the same way. Crowds work like this, if you decide you want to go another way then tough. A busy metro is not the place to stylishly defer yourself, go with the flow at all times.

6 – Use the seats. It’s not a marriage proposal, if the seat becomes vacant sit on it somebody else wants to stand where you are.

7 – Deodorant is mandatory. Your partner may like pheromones but they don’t work on public transport. I won’t vomit on you if you don’t suffocate me in body odour, deal?

8 – The announcer/signs are correct. I know that there is a lot of fraud out there but station announcements have not succumbed yet. When they say there are no trains from platform X there really aren’t, save a walk and just believe them.

9 – There is a fare system not a barter system, accept it. No matter how many options you give the ticket clerk or what your mother saw on the web, that is the price, pay it.

Noisy cars and stolen luggage

I remember reading, some years ago, about an experiment where a sports car was placed in a prominent location and stolen. The theory that was being tested was that we are so conditioned to car alarms that brazen theft would not be reported. The people who had arranged the experiment, I forget who it was, brought a lowloader in and lifted the Ferrari. There were no reports of a theft, despite the blazing alarm as the expensive vehicle was removed  by an unmarked vehicle. In fact the only interest that the experiment generated was a half-dozen complaints about the alarm.

It would seem that the more brazen crimes can be the easiest to carry out, an air of authority silences most challenges. Today I saw this theory used in practice to devastating effect. At St Pancreas station they have a huge Christmas tree sponsored by Fortnum and Mason, the decoration that they have chosen is hundreds of their world-famous hampers. The hampers are strung all over the tree bedecked in ribbons and bows and are also stacked around the base behind a simple barrier. As I left the metro station this morning I followed a young lady with a rucksack into the main station. When I say that I followed her I mean I was aware of her presence, in that way that you become aware of some people in a crowd.

Having collected my travel documents and headed upstairs I found that my train was ready for boarding so I headed for the gate. A couple of people in front of me I saw the same young lady with the rucksack heading through the barrier to board the same train. As well as the rucksack, which was strapped to her back, she was swinging a Fortnum and Mason hamper. There is no way that she could have visited the store in the time between exiting the metro and reaching the mainline train, in short I shared the journey with a thief. In a mainline London station surrounded by armed police, security cameras and staff this lady had sufficient air of authority to simply pluck a hamper from the stack as if it were her right. If I had a hat on I would have tipped it to her, a master of a craft always demands respect and this was Ms P Panther

The end of retirement and sadly getting it right

I always find it interesting the number of people who think that I will struggle with my, eventual, full-time transfer into the licensed trade. It is interesting because it is a debate that I have had with myself and won, of course I have what makes them think that I haven’t? What it demonstrates is the importance that work plays in my life, it is my purpose and my reason for being, that is not how it is meant to be. When people question my ability to leave industry they are essentially saying that I am one of those people whose life is so inextricably linked to work that they retire and then drop dead.

Perhaps it is a reflection of the modern world but this is not a scenario that is as common now as it used to be. As an apprentice I remember innumerable occasions when a retirement presentation was followed within a few months by condolences. Taking these people away from the working world removed their purpose and without it they simply ceased to be. I am not sure that it was a bad thing, whilst a lot of them would grumble that they never got to enjoy their pension I don’t know that they would have anyway. They would have saved their pension, in turn it would have passed to a charity, and spent their remaining time mithering staff in an old people’s home. I don’t know if the level of devotion to work was different then or if it was different social landscape. I guess that, in part, industry was harder when I was an apprentice and for those that retired when I was young it was exponentially harder.

For me the licensed trade is a brilliant way of blurring the hard edge between work and social life. In so doing it allows me to soften the transition and make sure that I delay the staff mithering as long as possible. The thing with industry is that it has an uncanny ability to reach out to you. It was with great surprise that I read of a long-established family business on my beloved Isle, not a place know for its thriving industrial landscape if you exclude seaside rock manufacturing. This industrial unit in Nitton is responsible for producing all of London Underground’s signage and has been since the 90’s. A look around their website the other not conjured up the most delightful incongruities as staff proudly displayed huge variants of the iconic roundel. Looking closely at some of these staff you could see, from the absence of frown lines and worry, that they had never visited their product in situ.

Yet another of my historic searches confirmed my decision this week which is reassuring, if not positive for the industry. The Worsley Arms in Wroxhall was a delightful building, set at the foot of glorious sweeping hills, with a huge expanse of land. A tired pub that needed some work it was reasonably priced and had a tenant at will who was keen to offer alternatives, often a sign of good trade. Wroxall is neither coastal nor on a particularly busy route but I set that aside determined to produce a fair business case for this grand old building. Sadly, no matter how I tried, I couldn’t see the premises cutting it and walked away. I read with interest that the community had rallied against its proposed demolition, a prospect that I mooted on this blog at the time, and was keen to read the result. In a stroke of genius from the building’s owner he sidestepped the community asset complications by stalling plans and offering the community the opportunity to purchase below market value.

Little more than £10K was raised and the property is being demolished for housing. It is always sad to see any public house go, the memories that they hold are key to so much of our past. But in the column inches and comments attributed to this story it is somewhat reassuring to read a common thread that the village couldn’t support two pub and think ‘ I got it right there’.

 

For those following the other project I have maintained my target of 2.5K words a day and, at 30K, am on target for the 35K by the weekend which is the target that I have set to release the next chapters.

Crazy days, hobby horses and stereo smuggling

On Monday decided that commuters should get a discount on their season ticket if they do something crazy. Not all the time or altogether, that would be daft but maybe each ticket could have a crazy day printed on it. On this day you would have to do something odd, wear something strange and just generally stand out. The world would be so much more fun and you would start every day with a smile. This is not just random thinking I know it for a fact. Thank you to the lady on the metro for coming to work on a hobby-horse today and leading the way. 

Seriously, in the middle of the morning commute this lady was stroking a horse’s head on a stick. Sadly I got off before her but I was sorely tempted to stay on and see if she ‘rode’ it off. How can you be angry with the world when there are people like that in it? Perhaps we shouldn’t stop at commuters though. Would there be any wars if somebody turned up to the crisis talks wearing a pink stetson? Would big business meetings not be brightened when the coffee was brought in by a woman riding a hobby-horse? 

Another observation from Monday’s travel was that some people use too many words. I see this all of the time in reports and letters but it was brought to the front of my mind by the departure board at St Pancreas. Apparently a portion of the sign was under test and this was indicated by it displaying the text “sign under test disregard all information”. Surely the test is just about illuminating pixels so why would they send fake information? The warning message took up the entire screen so it effectively made itself redundant. If one was to take it literally then you would disregard the message itself, you wouldn’t know it was under test but would it matter? If there was ‘information’ on the screen there would be no room for the message so nobody would be any the wiser. I was always taught that it is not the use of big words that makes you clever but the appropriate use of all words, was nobody else? 

In other news the stand that I ordered for my new television has arrived at my friend who has kindly taken it in. It was considerate of him to suggest that the stand would look good with a vase of flowers on it, given the ineptitude of the delivery service. Having previously asked for the delivery to be put out I sent a request over the weekend to switch it to my friends address. The request to change delivery address has been ignored because the item must be delivered to the cardholder’s address, I wait with bated breath. Apparently the need to deliver to my address is part of the security issues with buying electronics on credit card. 

I had no idea that electronics retail was awash with criminals, I had always considered them to be more interested in drugs, guns and prostitution. That there are arch criminals moving televisions around the country is quite a revelation but I think that it shows our criminals are not as bright as they once were. Surely it is far harder to smuggle a home cinema system than its value in cocaine? Are there ‘surround sound mules’ out there; actually that is an entertaining thought. The sheer inefficiency of the process must be off-putting to the criminal classes. I have seen drug deals on the television, they take mere seconds, to get a television delivered on the other hand seems to take weeks!

Any day of the week that has ‘day’ in it surely?

When I travel to and from work I am an avid user of the advance purchase system. By determining precisely which train I will use I can save a significant amount and hey who doesn’t like saving money. I am a seasoned traveller and understand that, no matter what the mode of transport, it doesn’t always work. Recently my service from Derby has been retimed to leave half an hour earlier due to track work. I made the earlier service Friday and it made London in good time. I have a 6 minute metro ride and precisely 30 minutes to achieve it in so all is rosy, or so you would think.

I hit the metro to find a waiting hot and cold and just made the closing doors. We made good time until Moorgate where we were held for 5 minutes or so, still well within my window. Departing Moorgate we stopped at the first signal and I started to think that this was not going so well. We crawled up to the last signal before Liverpool Street and were advised we were being held while the detrained and reversed the service currently incumbent in the platform. This is the ultimate in frustration, I could have walked from Moorgate comfortably but I was now trapped.

I studied my watch, worked out the tide at home and the moon stage for the next week oh and checked the time. I was booked on the 18 minutes past departure, at 14 minutes I was sweating. At 18 minutes we were on the move, yes you guessed it, I missed the train by 2 minutes in the end. I know this because, as a seasoned traveller, I know to race to the gate just in case. The next train in the right direction leaves at 30 minutes past the hour but it’s an express and stops at only one station before the interchange that I need. I leapt on board the train and furiously checked the schedules on my phone. This service was indeed faster, leaving 12 minutes behind it would arrive at the interchange only 2 minutes behind my service.

The reason for sharing this was actually for what came next. I was prepared for the debate with the train guard for travelling on the wrong service. I did what we all do in this situation; I offered my ticket and said nothing. I am not sure if this is an English thing or a human thing but you just have to have a first ‘punt’ and see if you are caught out. The challenging look told me I would have to do more and I explained the joy of sitting outside of the station while my service departed. I passed the interrogation and my documents were returned.

At the next seat bay she questioned a lady who was apparently travelling on an off peak ticket, such tickets not being valid on this service. She explained to the guard that she had told the ticket office her plans and they had sold her that ticket. The guard advised that this was an off peak return and thus not available on peak services and so she would have to purchase an additional ticket. This was a woman, I guess, in her fifties who seemed totally with it so she was quite willing to pay the extra. On further inspection the guard realised that something else was amiss, the ticket was a day return issued for Tuesday.

Having explained that a day return had to be used in a day (go figure) she awaited an answer from the passenger. At this point I should establish that this service was to Norwich and clearly this lady was going all the way. She considered the situation and was certain that this was the ticket office’s fault after all she had explained her plans before purchasing the ticket. She handed over her money but as she waited for the ticket she still looked deep in concentration and then, it hit her. Oh I think that I know how he made the mistake, when I purchased the ticket I told him that I would be “returning in the day”. Apparently the passenger had meant that she would not be travelling late at night but she thought that the ticket office has “got the words round wrong to make day return”.

Having dealt with call centre staff in Norwich I am not sure that she wasn’t correct in her thinking although she did have a rather large suitcase for a day return. When you combined the proud look on her face with the comedic accent you had all of the evidence you needed to conclude that there was no fraud involved. She paid for her ticket and the guard went on her way. Perhaps it was only me that thought ‘they don’t let them out much’ but a quick scan of my fellow passengers made me think not.

In other news that I have to share I have completed the excellent Dream Doctor by Stephen King, it took a week but only because I was busy. If you are a fan of Stephen King, if you watched the Shining, if you have seen the iconic “Here’s Johnny” image or if you just like a good read then this is for you. The story follows Danny Torrance who was Johnny’s son in the Shining, it is not compulsory to have read the Shining first but there are references to show you just how much you remember. A fantastic book that shows Stephen King has lost none of his page turning ability thoroughly recommended.

Complicated laces and lonely great aunts its all evolution

I overheard two staff members talking in the hotel the other day, the subject of choice was “poor Julie”, her terrible experience and how to avoid it. From the snippets that I overheard I gathered that Julie was a similar age to the two women that were talking, around mid thirties. It was clear from the conversation that whilst they sympathised with their friend and her ordeal she had rather ‘asked for it’. What decadence had she failed at? Well she had used the metro. It’s true, in 2013 this mid thirty year old woman had dared to use the London metro. Having made her way to London she had made the mistake of thinking that there was only one underground line.

Having made her way to the Victoria line and discovered that it did not include her destination on its route she was faced with a dilemma. Apparently the ‘logical’ answer was to board anyway and then follow the crowds. Now a top tip for anyone reading is that if you follow the crowds, wait for it, you will end up at the same place as the crowds. Having realised that all of London was not heading to her chosen destination she alighted and sought assistance. Unfortunately our visitor was not educated in the multicultural ‘language’ of the city and couldn’t understand the instructions that she was given. After a couple of hours of travelling subterranean London she found her terminus station and returned, distressed and exhausted, home.

You may think that I was in some odd enclave still awaiting electricity but I wasn’t. I have heard stories similar to this many times over the years, I recall friends telephoning in crisis because they have got lost on the circle line. It should also be noted that the two women that I overheard were both convinced that it was their friends error for venturing into town. I can’t help questioning how these people live their lives, not because they don’t understand the metro but because they give up. Having travelled all the way to London metro confusion causes you to return home and great-aunt Mildred doesn’t get a visit, why? Sure it takes some figuring but tying shoe laces was once more mystifying than the theory of time travel and you mastered that didn’t you. Where do these people think that we obtain ‘metro knowledge’ from, do they think that as children we are taken further and further away from home and made to find our way back? Are they bemoaning the lack of a ‘metro navigation’ course at the local college?

The human race is built on tenacity and refusal to surrender to what appears impossible so why are there some people who have lost this. Is this some confusion or mutation of evolution perhaps? I think that it is actually an extension of survival of the fittest, when the zombies come I am heading straight for the metro whilst these guys present themselves as snack food!

For those that are keeping an eye on the status of my life I must advise, with some sadness and a lot of frustration, that it remains stoically on hold. Despite three weeks of nervous phone calls and a challenging diary I am no further forward. I have no real estimates at the moment and judging by the language of my counsel I understand he is also no wiser, we all await some sort of update next week when the civil servants return to work.

Don’t look it only encourages them

They really do walk among us! Today I attended a meeting in town with the gaffer, this entailed a short hop on the metro. It never fails to astound me how many people that they let use the metro despite being ill-equipped. I would say that there should be a test to determine if you are capable of using public transport, but to be honest it would ruin my journeys. Today the Piccadilly line had a man who was intent on balancing a 5 inch glass ball on his finger tip or the back of his hand. Neither of these are mean feats before you add a moving train full of people.

The guy achieved his ambition and I actually felt a little (only a little) sorry for him. He was desperately looking for praise or acknowledgement but none came, like a child bothering busy parents he continued to perform but to no avail. I doubt he reads my blog but if he does then I can share this information with him. Alternatively if you know a man who likes playing with his balls on the metro…. no scrub that lets hope he reads this. The Piccadilly line is in London. That’s it, I shouldn’t really need to say anything more should I? London is not New York or Madrid, we don’t look for entertainment on the metro it is just transport. In London buskers get in the way and are annoying, graffiti has to be cleaned and is frankly rubbish. We don’t marvel at people’s skills when they try to entertain us we just give a British snigger and look away, even that only happens if we are travelling with someone.

They should write on the little metro maps some notes for visitors and number one would be “Do not make eye contact”. It is far more dangerous to make eye contact on the metro than it is to feed animals at the zoo or jaywalk. What happens if you make eye contact? There’s the rub, nobody knows! Seriously in 150 years of operation it has never happened, or perhaps nobody has lived to tell the tale. In fact if the upcoming zombie apocalypse was to rely on eye contact, rather than the more traditional biting, nobody on the metro would get infected. Don’t misunderstand me we love the eclectic atmosphere on other metros its part of a travelling experience but we also love sangria and we wouldn’t drink that in London.

To cap a post on London I have to say that following a week in the smoke coming home is all the sweeter. As I walked down my high street, before I could even see the sea, I smelt sea air and it was fantastic. I swear that smell alone cleanses the soul and revitalises you and I am so lucky to call it home.

 

The new normal and lost direction

There is change afoot within my work environment, nothing is ever really permanent, as we move through the final stages of yet another contract. As I sit on the Victoria line this morning, stationary in the pipe as we wait for another train to clear the platform, it reminds me of the warm and quiet subterranean nights of London. I no longer have a choice of old or new rolling stock as there is only the stock now, as accepted as the sun coming up in the morning, their teething troubles behind them they are a feature of the London metro.

The long nights, restless weekends, crisis’s, panics and endless deadlines are passed and we have achieved what many often thought we couldn’t once again. There are tasks to complete, actions to close and opportunities to investigate but our product is surpassing all but our own expectations as we look to the next herculean task for tomorrow’s challenge. Our production line is dismantled, project team disbanded and our offices abandoned to the dust bunnies and ghosts of fraught exchanges past. Opening the door to our office allows a breath of air to idly turn discarded paperwork yet to be cleared by the next incoming project.

Whilst the nomadic nature of big project introduction is not to everybody’s taste for some of us it gels neatly with a low boredom threshold providing regular refreshes to challenge. For me one of the best things about my chosen career is the privilege to be involved in such huge and iconic projects and to share in the hidden history of the infrastructure that we otherwise take for granted.

I was reminded today, at Euston, that not all of the metro is a seamless mass of humanity controlled by almost ethereal forces. Euston is one of the older mainline terminals in the city and even before you surface from the metro you can sense that the crowd is lost, something interrupts the unheard signal and they lose their way. It has always been like this, a combination of erratic spaces, oddly placed portals and awkward information results in confusion and the crowd loses purpose, like sleep walkers awoken mid stroll they lose direction. The loss of common purposes is amazing to watch, not one clear path exists in the milling crowds as the criss cross and deflect each other like balls on a billiards table. If ever you want to understand the value offered by those that design public spaces and evaluate passenger flow this is a very good place to start, you couldn’t make it much worse if you blindfolded them.