Just wanted to wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a good riddance to 2008. It's been a terrible year, so let's hope 2009 brings us all some joy, well it can't suck any more than this one! Can it?
May all your mince pies not be subject to product recalls due to 'foreign matter' being discovered within causing a massive public health scare.
Merry Christmas, God Jul, Frohe Weinachten, Feliz Navidad, Joyeaux Noel, Buon Natale!
Saturday, 13 December 2008
Thursday, 22 May 2008
Walworth Road Launderette sign REPAIR SHOCKA!
As promised prior to my sojourn to the Dordogne, I had a list of items I needed to bring to your attention. The first one is to do with the Launderette sign across from the Castlemead Estate on the Walworth Road towards Camberwell Green.
Well you may remember how I've recorded and enjoyed it's steady deterioration over the last 6 years. Nearly entirely bereft of vowels I wanted to see just how long the managment within would accept it as a valid means of communication.
Anyway, it was with abject horror and not all small amount of amazment that the sign has been repaired. I KNOW! The overriding vernacular of this part of Southwark is undoutedly 'post apocalyptic' and anything that strays from the pattern of a downward slide into anarchy should be met with suspicion!
So, the sign has been repaired, its lost vowels re-instated. But the most amazing thing is that, not only have the letters been replaced (they are profiled red acrylic on spacers), but the letters are the same typeface and size. UNBELIEVABLE in an area where painting the missing letters back on to the brickwork behind would have been seen as more than adequate.
Thankfully, there is one aspect of this disturbing development which re-assures me that the Walworth Road is still millenia away from gentrification and being renamed 'Camberwell Quarter' and that is that the red acrylic's hue doesn't match.
Hoorah, mediocrity is alive and well in Camberwell (that would make a nice slogan for the local council).
Well you may remember how I've recorded and enjoyed it's steady deterioration over the last 6 years. Nearly entirely bereft of vowels I wanted to see just how long the managment within would accept it as a valid means of communication.
Anyway, it was with abject horror and not all small amount of amazment that the sign has been repaired. I KNOW! The overriding vernacular of this part of Southwark is undoutedly 'post apocalyptic' and anything that strays from the pattern of a downward slide into anarchy should be met with suspicion!
So, the sign has been repaired, its lost vowels re-instated. But the most amazing thing is that, not only have the letters been replaced (they are profiled red acrylic on spacers), but the letters are the same typeface and size. UNBELIEVABLE in an area where painting the missing letters back on to the brickwork behind would have been seen as more than adequate.
Thankfully, there is one aspect of this disturbing development which re-assures me that the Walworth Road is still millenia away from gentrification and being renamed 'Camberwell Quarter' and that is that the red acrylic's hue doesn't match.
Hoorah, mediocrity is alive and well in Camberwell (that would make a nice slogan for the local council).
Flickr
Well after my trouble with You Tube and all that unpleasantness, I discovered how my account had been 'hijacked' and it was I'm afraid down to a momentary lapse on concentration on my part. This has annoyed me intensely as I am normally so suspicious and rigourous about security. I wont go into details, but suffice to say, 'I' had commented on stuff that really I wouldn't want to comment on.
Thankfully that account has been recently shut down now.
Anyway, now a little bit wiser and not without a bit of trepidation, I have opened a Flickr account. I thought this would be a good way of doing a bit of self promotion. I've posted a few pics of my Alton Towers work on it. However for some reason when you search for them, they can't be found. So still not really sure how it all works. You can however search for me and see my pics that way, just look for 'laird 'o' the heights when you search for 'people'.
I have also re-opened a new and more secure You Tube account as I wanted to comment of videos of my trains. It's nice to see what people think of your work.
Thankfully that account has been recently shut down now.
Anyway, now a little bit wiser and not without a bit of trepidation, I have opened a Flickr account. I thought this would be a good way of doing a bit of self promotion. I've posted a few pics of my Alton Towers work on it. However for some reason when you search for them, they can't be found. So still not really sure how it all works. You can however search for me and see my pics that way, just look for 'laird 'o' the heights when you search for 'people'.
I have also re-opened a new and more secure You Tube account as I wanted to comment of videos of my trains. It's nice to see what people think of your work.
Thursday, 8 May 2008
Entent Cordial, bit like Ribena, but with more garlic.
Bonjour, Je ma'appelle le Laird du les heights du Dulwich Grande.
Mais oui, j'aime bien les Poisson Rouge, je deteste la musique folklorique.
Ou est la Marie du Creteil? Sous la fenetre.
Le gateaux mademoiselle, c'est combien?
Hmm Danone!
Ah, you've just caughtme in the middle of a French lesson. I think you'll agree I have a pretty good grasp of the basics and the phrases above will pretty much get you through most tricky gallic situations.
The reason for me brushing up on the old 'Franglais' is that I will once again be temporarilly leaving Greater Dulwich Heights and heading to the French conterpart, 'La vue du St Severin D'Estissac in the beautiful Dordogne region of SW France.
I know this will come as a disappointment to my fan, but have no fear I shall 'retour' (I'm good aren't I? Did you see what I did there, I cleverly replaced the word 'return' with it's French equivalent to continue the now flagging French theme).
Anywho, I will be back on Monday, so when I've got some time I can update you on some exciting stories and developements including:
Walworth Road Launderette sign REPAIR SHOCKA!
Spudniks
Cheesy Nik Naks
and a new up and coming feature 'ARGOS CATALOGUE ON TOP OF A BUS SHELTER WATCH 2008'. This is a replacement for the hugely popular 'BANANA ON TOP OF A BUS SHELTER 2006'
and
Ken Livingston and my part in his downfall.
For now Salut Maintenant and all that crazy French nonsence.
Mais oui, j'aime bien les Poisson Rouge, je deteste la musique folklorique.
Ou est la Marie du Creteil? Sous la fenetre.
Le gateaux mademoiselle, c'est combien?
Hmm Danone!
Ah, you've just caughtme in the middle of a French lesson. I think you'll agree I have a pretty good grasp of the basics and the phrases above will pretty much get you through most tricky gallic situations.
The reason for me brushing up on the old 'Franglais' is that I will once again be temporarilly leaving Greater Dulwich Heights and heading to the French conterpart, 'La vue du St Severin D'Estissac in the beautiful Dordogne region of SW France.
I know this will come as a disappointment to my fan, but have no fear I shall 'retour' (I'm good aren't I? Did you see what I did there, I cleverly replaced the word 'return' with it's French equivalent to continue the now flagging French theme).
Anywho, I will be back on Monday, so when I've got some time I can update you on some exciting stories and developements including:
Walworth Road Launderette sign REPAIR SHOCKA!
Spudniks
Cheesy Nik Naks
and a new up and coming feature 'ARGOS CATALOGUE ON TOP OF A BUS SHELTER WATCH 2008'. This is a replacement for the hugely popular 'BANANA ON TOP OF A BUS SHELTER 2006'
and
Ken Livingston and my part in his downfall.
For now Salut Maintenant and all that crazy French nonsence.
Monday, 14 April 2008
It's T5RRIFIC
I make no apologies (for as you know, I am always right), for the whorey 'Sizzling, Soaraway, SUN' style title to this post. I just felt that after all the bad press about Heathrow's new Terminal 5 that it was up to me to start its swing back to favour. So it's with that thought in mind, I leave 'The Heights' and deviate from my usual Sunday constitutional and get on the Piccadilly line. Well I have a 6 zone Oystercard and I'm not afraid to use it!
What seems like hours later, because it was, I am thrilled to find myself hurling down an hitherto unriden part of the tube system. Those familiar with with the old Heathrow loop will remember riding the never ending curve that appears as a tear drop on the tube map. No longer do you have to endure the whiplash as shortly after leaving Terminal 123 station you head straight for T5. I get up to the door long before the train enters the new station and decide to stand next to the 'Starboard' side doors, after all, I know the Nigerian cleaning lady dribbling onto her royal Blue tabard will be particularly impressed that I know which side to alight from. After all I've used T5 so many times, well that's what I want her to think!
Anywho, I swagger onto the sterile platform (just the way I like it), natural daylight is evident which is the motivation for all new tube station designs, Natural light, must have natural light.
I swan through new oversided ticket barriers, presumably installed to cater for the influx of fat yanks and increasingly 'circumferencially challenged' Brits.
Like a set from Metropolis you are greated by mighty escalators and banks of swanky glass elevators held in place by lovely blue stantions. I choose the escalators, I struggle with the whole elevator/ tube thing. I did get trapped at Goodge Street once. I had to decide whom of my fellow 'trappees' I would have to eat first!
It is however at the top of said escalator that I encounter my hopefully only T5 related terror. GLASS FLOORS! The glass is WAY to clear and you can clearly see 30 feet below where you are likely to end up a sticky mess should the glass give way. You have to walk across it, as it's immediately beyond the escalator stair return sump. The effect however is to make you stop at the top of the escaltor, just where you don't want to stop. We've all seen the piles ups when some doddery idiot decides to stop at the top or bottom of one of the big escalators. Oh how we've laughed as finger are 'snicked' off betwix stair combs and trousers ripped as they snag the machinery!
Thankfully no one saw me panic, nearly lost my cool there! I enter a dissapointingly T2 style arrivals hall, Travelex to the left, Krispy Kreme to the right. Nice banks of escalators and elevators painted different sherbet colours, 'To aid orientation' no doubt and white giant 'communion wafer' style sound baffles overhead. They've got there escalators in a pickle though, I'm sure I went up one to a landing who's only point of exit was an escalator coming down towards you.
I'm asked, "are you OK sir?", "You look a bit lost". Me, lost, proposterous, I know my way around T5, ask that Nigerian Cleaning lady with the wet patch on her tabard. She knows.
I pretend to know what I'd doing and look at my watch and walk away purposefully.
20 escalators and various rides up and down glass lifts later and I arrive in the departures hall.
Where were the people sleeping in cardboard boxes? The chaos, the mountains of luggage? Hysterical Hindus? Bewildered staff?
It was a beautiful scene of sweeping white steel and serenity, arty images float across huge LED screens and mean bugger all but look pretty. It really is lovely, you can see from end to end and from front to back, one of the things I liked about Stansted. You can see Windsor Castle to the West, Thorpe Park rollercoasters to the South and the Wembley Arch, well somewhere over there beyond Southall. The views are sensational and being so elevated you are looking down at planes as if in the control tower which incidentally you can see to the East over on airside.
I stopped at Caffe Nero, one of only a couple of eateries, the interesting stuff is airside, such as Gordon Ramsey's much slated 'Plane Food' (stupid name).
I spend a few happy hours drawing a beautifully designed 'structural node' and enjoying the airport environment happy in the knowledge I don't have to fly anywhere. I sup on my Frappe skinny Latte mochaccino thingy.
I ask one of the many 'Can I help you' bods if it's always this quiet? It is obviously running a low capacity, particulary now BA has moved Long haul back to the other Ts. But aparently it is, as it's just so vast. They've clearly been too busy trying to reunite 50,000 pieces of lost luggage with their owners to come up with superlatives, but I'm sure you could fit the Empire State Building in there (sideways obviously). But thankfully they haven't tried, so we can enjoy the luscious space that reminds me of Shanghai's Pudong airport (hark at me). Though the only problem with vast glazed terminii is that they can't be airconditioned quickly enough to counteract solar gain. So as Pudong smells of sweat, rotten Eggs and noodles, let's pray T5 doesn't suffer the same fate, or at very worst, let's hope us poor 'landsiders' at least get a whaft of Ramsey's over priced fare.
What seems like hours later, because it was, I am thrilled to find myself hurling down an hitherto unriden part of the tube system. Those familiar with with the old Heathrow loop will remember riding the never ending curve that appears as a tear drop on the tube map. No longer do you have to endure the whiplash as shortly after leaving Terminal 123 station you head straight for T5. I get up to the door long before the train enters the new station and decide to stand next to the 'Starboard' side doors, after all, I know the Nigerian cleaning lady dribbling onto her royal Blue tabard will be particularly impressed that I know which side to alight from. After all I've used T5 so many times, well that's what I want her to think!
Anywho, I swagger onto the sterile platform (just the way I like it), natural daylight is evident which is the motivation for all new tube station designs, Natural light, must have natural light.
I swan through new oversided ticket barriers, presumably installed to cater for the influx of fat yanks and increasingly 'circumferencially challenged' Brits.
Like a set from Metropolis you are greated by mighty escalators and banks of swanky glass elevators held in place by lovely blue stantions. I choose the escalators, I struggle with the whole elevator/ tube thing. I did get trapped at Goodge Street once. I had to decide whom of my fellow 'trappees' I would have to eat first!
It is however at the top of said escalator that I encounter my hopefully only T5 related terror. GLASS FLOORS! The glass is WAY to clear and you can clearly see 30 feet below where you are likely to end up a sticky mess should the glass give way. You have to walk across it, as it's immediately beyond the escalator stair return sump. The effect however is to make you stop at the top of the escaltor, just where you don't want to stop. We've all seen the piles ups when some doddery idiot decides to stop at the top or bottom of one of the big escalators. Oh how we've laughed as finger are 'snicked' off betwix stair combs and trousers ripped as they snag the machinery!
Thankfully no one saw me panic, nearly lost my cool there! I enter a dissapointingly T2 style arrivals hall, Travelex to the left, Krispy Kreme to the right. Nice banks of escalators and elevators painted different sherbet colours, 'To aid orientation' no doubt and white giant 'communion wafer' style sound baffles overhead. They've got there escalators in a pickle though, I'm sure I went up one to a landing who's only point of exit was an escalator coming down towards you.
I'm asked, "are you OK sir?", "You look a bit lost". Me, lost, proposterous, I know my way around T5, ask that Nigerian Cleaning lady with the wet patch on her tabard. She knows.
I pretend to know what I'd doing and look at my watch and walk away purposefully.
20 escalators and various rides up and down glass lifts later and I arrive in the departures hall.
Where were the people sleeping in cardboard boxes? The chaos, the mountains of luggage? Hysterical Hindus? Bewildered staff?
It was a beautiful scene of sweeping white steel and serenity, arty images float across huge LED screens and mean bugger all but look pretty. It really is lovely, you can see from end to end and from front to back, one of the things I liked about Stansted. You can see Windsor Castle to the West, Thorpe Park rollercoasters to the South and the Wembley Arch, well somewhere over there beyond Southall. The views are sensational and being so elevated you are looking down at planes as if in the control tower which incidentally you can see to the East over on airside.
I stopped at Caffe Nero, one of only a couple of eateries, the interesting stuff is airside, such as Gordon Ramsey's much slated 'Plane Food' (stupid name).
I spend a few happy hours drawing a beautifully designed 'structural node' and enjoying the airport environment happy in the knowledge I don't have to fly anywhere. I sup on my Frappe skinny Latte mochaccino thingy.
I ask one of the many 'Can I help you' bods if it's always this quiet? It is obviously running a low capacity, particulary now BA has moved Long haul back to the other Ts. But aparently it is, as it's just so vast. They've clearly been too busy trying to reunite 50,000 pieces of lost luggage with their owners to come up with superlatives, but I'm sure you could fit the Empire State Building in there (sideways obviously). But thankfully they haven't tried, so we can enjoy the luscious space that reminds me of Shanghai's Pudong airport (hark at me). Though the only problem with vast glazed terminii is that they can't be airconditioned quickly enough to counteract solar gain. So as Pudong smells of sweat, rotten Eggs and noodles, let's pray T5 doesn't suffer the same fate, or at very worst, let's hope us poor 'landsiders' at least get a whaft of Ramsey's over priced fare.
Saturday, 12 April 2008
The 'Twiglet' Zone
I had my 2nd session today of 'Hypnotism' to help me deal with, well, I suppose it's what's called 'life' really. Most people just get on with things and accept 'Horrors' as part of the Human condition. I read once that 'the human' was pre-programmed to 'struggle', that's our default setting, apparently.
That said I look at some people's existence and think, Damn, their life is horrendous, even the dearest of friends of mine who are going through really rough times (and it breaks my heart), just 'get on with it'!
I however am clearly programmed differently, I've always been a sensitive petal though as you'll probably gather. I live alone with a ghost cocker spaniel (I'd have it no other way, spare me your sympathy), just indulge me.
Anywho, without going into too much detail, (cos it's a blog for the future), I'm seeing a lovely Lady (no, not in that way) who's giving me a bit of support and guidance on how to meet the daily challenges of living in this wonderful, extraordinary, yet exasperating city.
I'm a control freak by nature, I like order, reason, logic, definition, and polished Terrazzo, so to find myself in an obscure part of South East London, alone with a New Yorker talking existentialism leaves me, at one and the same time baffled, but enjoying a rare 'frisson' of the unknown. The unknown is alien to the 'Laird of Greater Dulwich Heights', hitherto it's a World full of wickedness, contortion and the perverse.
Yet for once in my life I give in to the 'unfathomable', because for the first time in my adult life I realise I can't solve everything on my own, don't get me wrong, Cara, my spaniel friend is a font of knowledge, but to listen to her exclusively would be wrong, she's a dog and more so, she's no longer living.
So it's to Brockley I go. The anticipation I feel is a bit like as if I'm going to the dentist. We talk about my week, I rant as you'd expect, she nods reassuringly as if to say, "I think you're a froot loop, but I'll have fun sorting you out". The formalities out of the way and the process of 'so called' hypnotism beings. I'm not going to tell you what happens, all I can say is, something happens. I'm a sceptic, but open to new ideas, let's just leave it at that.
Anyway, the title of this blog entry is 'The Twiglet zone', for tis today I feel like I came close. The session I had today was all about relaxation, putting yourself, outside or perhaps inside yourself. I was very relaxed, but at one point, and I only realised once I'd come out of it, that I had completely switched off. It was remarkable. It was if I had seen what it was like to be in the deepest sleep, but observing from outside. I know that makes no sense, this is my blog, so deal with it! All I can say is that the place I visited today, the supposed 'Twiglet zone', was a perfect 50% grey and vertically rectangular!????? GO FIGURE! The 'thick' will no doubt 'plotten' over the next few weeks as I've been given 'homework'. Homework that I will enjoy as it places me back as an 8 year old. It's a time in my life when I worried terribly about the Amityville Horror, Nuclear armageddon, and building the prefect Lego city but was probably one of my happiest years.
That said I look at some people's existence and think, Damn, their life is horrendous, even the dearest of friends of mine who are going through really rough times (and it breaks my heart), just 'get on with it'!
I however am clearly programmed differently, I've always been a sensitive petal though as you'll probably gather. I live alone with a ghost cocker spaniel (I'd have it no other way, spare me your sympathy), just indulge me.
Anywho, without going into too much detail, (cos it's a blog for the future), I'm seeing a lovely Lady (no, not in that way) who's giving me a bit of support and guidance on how to meet the daily challenges of living in this wonderful, extraordinary, yet exasperating city.
I'm a control freak by nature, I like order, reason, logic, definition, and polished Terrazzo, so to find myself in an obscure part of South East London, alone with a New Yorker talking existentialism leaves me, at one and the same time baffled, but enjoying a rare 'frisson' of the unknown. The unknown is alien to the 'Laird of Greater Dulwich Heights', hitherto it's a World full of wickedness, contortion and the perverse.
Yet for once in my life I give in to the 'unfathomable', because for the first time in my adult life I realise I can't solve everything on my own, don't get me wrong, Cara, my spaniel friend is a font of knowledge, but to listen to her exclusively would be wrong, she's a dog and more so, she's no longer living.
So it's to Brockley I go. The anticipation I feel is a bit like as if I'm going to the dentist. We talk about my week, I rant as you'd expect, she nods reassuringly as if to say, "I think you're a froot loop, but I'll have fun sorting you out". The formalities out of the way and the process of 'so called' hypnotism beings. I'm not going to tell you what happens, all I can say is, something happens. I'm a sceptic, but open to new ideas, let's just leave it at that.
Anyway, the title of this blog entry is 'The Twiglet zone', for tis today I feel like I came close. The session I had today was all about relaxation, putting yourself, outside or perhaps inside yourself. I was very relaxed, but at one point, and I only realised once I'd come out of it, that I had completely switched off. It was remarkable. It was if I had seen what it was like to be in the deepest sleep, but observing from outside. I know that makes no sense, this is my blog, so deal with it! All I can say is that the place I visited today, the supposed 'Twiglet zone', was a perfect 50% grey and vertically rectangular!????? GO FIGURE! The 'thick' will no doubt 'plotten' over the next few weeks as I've been given 'homework'. Homework that I will enjoy as it places me back as an 8 year old. It's a time in my life when I worried terribly about the Amityville Horror, Nuclear armageddon, and building the prefect Lego city but was probably one of my happiest years.
Friday, 11 April 2008
The Camberwell Triangle
It's been a funny old week, Sunday saw 'The Heights' cloaked in a 4 inch blanket of snow. My Sunday morning constitutional to the Horniman Gardens was transformed temporarily into a trip to Narnia. I headed to 'the wharf' and had fun dodging the enormous chunks of slush that were sloughing off the skyscrapers and hurtling earthwards, splooshing like Pteradactyl guano on the pavement. By 3pm I found myself in the Woodman pub in 'Lower Dulwich Heights' with Sam & Ben with the snow all but gone. The sweet potato bake 'wot' I had, delivered on a surprising 5 levels, it had actually only promised 3, so full marks to the chef at the Woodman.
Anyway, the rest of the week wasn't so relaxing, I've not left work before 9pm most nights due to these bloody Alton Towers trains. But they're going to look great, you must all go, all two of you who look at my blog. The late evenings saw me stranded on Waterloo Road with an emergency pasty (the fumes from the pasty shop whaft up the escalators onto the Waterloo concourse, as you know I dissapprove of fast food and was certainly brought up not to eat on the street, however when you've done a 14 hour day and not eaten since 12, I defy anyone not to pass the pasty shop). They glow like little crispy golden Cresent Moons lined up and I wish I could just curl up inside one and have a sleep. The heat brought on by the pasty related guilty pleasure soon subsided as 30 mins later no 176 had materialised.
10:30pm Then two, COUNT THEM, two 176's sauntered up, as they do. BOTH TERMINATING AT CAMBERWELL GREEN! I asked the driver of the 2nd one if any buses would be going to 'the Heights' this evening. "In ten mins, he said. "the buses are running late", he said, What does that mean? They're not running late, they're just not running, or at best they're running so late they've actually caught up with the time table and I've lost ten mins of my life in a timewarp/ wormhole on Waterloo Road. I reluctantly got on the bus, replete as I would expect with a good sprinkling of nutters, Africans reeking of mothballs, tortured chicken bones strewn across the floor and various beverage bottles rolling 'Japanese Torture' style up and down the deck. The tisk tisk tisk of 'Jiggy Batty' R& B garbage finished the charming scene beautifully. The soporific effect of the Elephant & Castle roundabouts and traffic calming measures of is the 'infected colon' of South London, aka the Walworth Road had me nodding off. To my horror the bus decided to terminate at the nadir of the bus route, not even Camberwell Green where at least I'd have crack heads and rapists for company. It's the bit where the buses change drivers next the the LAUN__RETT_, who's profile acrylic lettering I've enjoyed watching deteriorate slowly over the last 6 years, only when it reads __UN__RE_T_ will I feel my job is done. 11:15 and a Penge (Pawleyne Arms) bus eventually turns up and I am 'Heights' bound. I endure the bus being stopped, lights put out and the soul crushing sound of the engine shuddering to a stop as yet again, arrogant, swaggering 'bluds' waddle onto the bus with their trousers round their knees and refuse to pay. They shoot upstairs no doubt to quietly read poetry or discuss world affairs. Evetually they are shamed into getting off. We swap death stares. I know they were frightened by me. From then on we swoop up Denmark Hill, glower at the beer swillers at the George Canning, wave to Jenny Eclair, watch the scumbags alight at Dog Kennel Hill in a hail of chicken bones, Supermalt bottles. I tut. 10 mins later I arrive at The Horniman. It's 11.35 I can barely walk up the hill and contemplate spending a night with the foxes of Sydenham Rise. I endure and so to bed.
Anyway, the rest of the week wasn't so relaxing, I've not left work before 9pm most nights due to these bloody Alton Towers trains. But they're going to look great, you must all go, all two of you who look at my blog. The late evenings saw me stranded on Waterloo Road with an emergency pasty (the fumes from the pasty shop whaft up the escalators onto the Waterloo concourse, as you know I dissapprove of fast food and was certainly brought up not to eat on the street, however when you've done a 14 hour day and not eaten since 12, I defy anyone not to pass the pasty shop). They glow like little crispy golden Cresent Moons lined up and I wish I could just curl up inside one and have a sleep. The heat brought on by the pasty related guilty pleasure soon subsided as 30 mins later no 176 had materialised.
10:30pm Then two, COUNT THEM, two 176's sauntered up, as they do. BOTH TERMINATING AT CAMBERWELL GREEN! I asked the driver of the 2nd one if any buses would be going to 'the Heights' this evening. "In ten mins, he said. "the buses are running late", he said, What does that mean? They're not running late, they're just not running, or at best they're running so late they've actually caught up with the time table and I've lost ten mins of my life in a timewarp/ wormhole on Waterloo Road. I reluctantly got on the bus, replete as I would expect with a good sprinkling of nutters, Africans reeking of mothballs, tortured chicken bones strewn across the floor and various beverage bottles rolling 'Japanese Torture' style up and down the deck. The tisk tisk tisk of 'Jiggy Batty' R& B garbage finished the charming scene beautifully. The soporific effect of the Elephant & Castle roundabouts and traffic calming measures of is the 'infected colon' of South London, aka the Walworth Road had me nodding off. To my horror the bus decided to terminate at the nadir of the bus route, not even Camberwell Green where at least I'd have crack heads and rapists for company. It's the bit where the buses change drivers next the the LAUN__RETT_, who's profile acrylic lettering I've enjoyed watching deteriorate slowly over the last 6 years, only when it reads __UN__RE_T_ will I feel my job is done. 11:15 and a Penge (Pawleyne Arms) bus eventually turns up and I am 'Heights' bound. I endure the bus being stopped, lights put out and the soul crushing sound of the engine shuddering to a stop as yet again, arrogant, swaggering 'bluds' waddle onto the bus with their trousers round their knees and refuse to pay. They shoot upstairs no doubt to quietly read poetry or discuss world affairs. Evetually they are shamed into getting off. We swap death stares. I know they were frightened by me. From then on we swoop up Denmark Hill, glower at the beer swillers at the George Canning, wave to Jenny Eclair, watch the scumbags alight at Dog Kennel Hill in a hail of chicken bones, Supermalt bottles. I tut. 10 mins later I arrive at The Horniman. It's 11.35 I can barely walk up the hill and contemplate spending a night with the foxes of Sydenham Rise. I endure and so to bed.
Sunday, 30 March 2008
Blogger Bother
Hello again, well after Saturday's rant and resultant feeling of self rightousness I was brought back to Earth with a bump on Sunday. Not sure how or why it has happened, but my 'Image Reference' account appears to have been used by someone else and for some time. I can only think it's happened at work, but even then, how?. I've been getting emails to the associated email account which I automatically just put down to spam, so normally delete them straight away, but by chance happened to open one and it had my psuedonym but didn't relate to anything I had knew about and I then discovered that many more comments that I wasn't aware of.
Anyway, I've susequently changed all my details and email address for that account (not my tiscali one, it stays the same) to something really obscure in a hope of thwarting whoever might have done this. I bemused to say the least as it's not like it was a bank account and so they could gain something from this. It's so easy to set up your own account for free. Anyway I hope it's resolved now as I will continue to vent my over inflated spleen.
Anyway, I've susequently changed all my details and email address for that account (not my tiscali one, it stays the same) to something really obscure in a hope of thwarting whoever might have done this. I bemused to say the least as it's not like it was a bank account and so they could gain something from this. It's so easy to set up your own account for free. Anyway I hope it's resolved now as I will continue to vent my over inflated spleen.
Saturday, 29 March 2008
Rant du jour 29.03.08
Dear reader, Today has been a strange, but not uneventful day. For tis today that I was (I want to believe) HYPNOTISED. No, that's not a metaphor, I actually had a session with a hypnotist, the reason for which I may publish in a future blog, but it's too current and charged to elaborate on.
Anyway, suffice as to say, it was an interesting experience though I was concerned that I may have been transformed into a radish!
So, it was with a new sense of personal well being (following my session) I took my regular constitutional at Canary Wharf (well it was rainy and being underground 'weather' never happens at CW). A new mall has opened and I had to check it was up to my standards. It was Ok, sterile, soulless, terrazzo clad and replete with aspirational brands that I can't afford, everything I like about this chunk of Downtown Manhattan in East London. I had planned to have a late lunch at Wagamama in Jubilee Mall, but had Sausage Hot pot in Pret a Minge instead (very reasonably priced too, I heartily recommend it). Anyway, I headed back to 'The Heights' courtesy of the DLR and P4 bus ).
I found myself on the interweb checking mail, as you do. I then became seduced by a photo site I often use for research and stumbled across an image of, well I'm almost too ashamed to say, but it was that racist, feckless harridan, 'JADE GOODY'. Yer, I know I shouldn't even know who she is. Anywho, she was featured on this site on the cover of a Trash, Fash, Slag red top Mag, so being me, I had to comment, particularly as someone from the 'Global Pariah' (that should and soon will be, if it isn't already) the USA had made a typically vacuous, wide brush stroked comment. Here's my retort:
"Being a Londoner and British, I can and often do comment about UK culture (even the lowest of lowbrow). There are far too many stupid people around the UK that are prepared to allow themselves to be seduced by marketeers and the vicious British media. While I wouldn't piss on Jade Goody if she was on fire, as she embodies just about everything I detest about this vile fetish for vacuous celebrity that Britain seems to love, I do think despite her being an ignorant, revolting and racist human being she's clearly has been abused by the media she's so willing (and naively because she as thick as shit) courted. Don't get me wrong, I hope Jade Goody crawls back under whatever rock she emerged from. She contributes nothing to our country and our culture and only acts as an icon for the feckless sectors of society who think the only way (and so easiest way) to get ahead is to be whore your soul to the media by appearing on the utter garbage churned out by the likes Endemol and Syco (Simon Cowell) media.
WAKE UP BRITAIN! X-FACTOR, BIG BROTHER, Imported garbage like American Idol are purely vehicles for driving advertising revenues and nothing else. Stop phoning in and voting and GET A LIFE!"
So, there you are, I'm sure that chap in the good ole U.S of A is quaking in his cowboy boots and ten gallon hat. I can't wait for the response which will no doubt be in text speak and peppered with expletives. I find American swearing quite charming as their expletive vocabulary has nowhere near plumbed the depths of ours (something Britain can be rightly proud of). So, bring on the 'S.O.B's' , YOU IGNORANT, INSULAR, BURGER GUZZLING, BRAINWASHED MORON!
So, that's been my Saturday, how was yours?
What was it said about keeping 'The View from Greater Dulwich Heights' light? It was never going to happen was it.
Anyway, suffice as to say, it was an interesting experience though I was concerned that I may have been transformed into a radish!
So, it was with a new sense of personal well being (following my session) I took my regular constitutional at Canary Wharf (well it was rainy and being underground 'weather' never happens at CW). A new mall has opened and I had to check it was up to my standards. It was Ok, sterile, soulless, terrazzo clad and replete with aspirational brands that I can't afford, everything I like about this chunk of Downtown Manhattan in East London. I had planned to have a late lunch at Wagamama in Jubilee Mall, but had Sausage Hot pot in Pret a Minge instead (very reasonably priced too, I heartily recommend it). Anyway, I headed back to 'The Heights' courtesy of the DLR and P4 bus ).
I found myself on the interweb checking mail, as you do. I then became seduced by a photo site I often use for research and stumbled across an image of, well I'm almost too ashamed to say, but it was that racist, feckless harridan, 'JADE GOODY'. Yer, I know I shouldn't even know who she is. Anywho, she was featured on this site on the cover of a Trash, Fash, Slag red top Mag, so being me, I had to comment, particularly as someone from the 'Global Pariah' (that should and soon will be, if it isn't already) the USA had made a typically vacuous, wide brush stroked comment. Here's my retort:
"Being a Londoner and British, I can and often do comment about UK culture (even the lowest of lowbrow). There are far too many stupid people around the UK that are prepared to allow themselves to be seduced by marketeers and the vicious British media. While I wouldn't piss on Jade Goody if she was on fire, as she embodies just about everything I detest about this vile fetish for vacuous celebrity that Britain seems to love, I do think despite her being an ignorant, revolting and racist human being she's clearly has been abused by the media she's so willing (and naively because she as thick as shit) courted. Don't get me wrong, I hope Jade Goody crawls back under whatever rock she emerged from. She contributes nothing to our country and our culture and only acts as an icon for the feckless sectors of society who think the only way (and so easiest way) to get ahead is to be whore your soul to the media by appearing on the utter garbage churned out by the likes Endemol and Syco (Simon Cowell) media.
WAKE UP BRITAIN! X-FACTOR, BIG BROTHER, Imported garbage like American Idol are purely vehicles for driving advertising revenues and nothing else. Stop phoning in and voting and GET A LIFE!"
So, there you are, I'm sure that chap in the good ole U.S of A is quaking in his cowboy boots and ten gallon hat. I can't wait for the response which will no doubt be in text speak and peppered with expletives. I find American swearing quite charming as their expletive vocabulary has nowhere near plumbed the depths of ours (something Britain can be rightly proud of). So, bring on the 'S.O.B's' , YOU IGNORANT, INSULAR, BURGER GUZZLING, BRAINWASHED MORON!
So, that's been my Saturday, how was yours?
What was it said about keeping 'The View from Greater Dulwich Heights' light? It was never going to happen was it.
Thursday, 27 March 2008
test
This is a test, so don't bother to read this. Ah too late, you just did.
Well as you're here I may as well tell you that I am still at work , it's 8pm now waiting for a file to save for the Alton Towers job.
Today has been fraught, the atmosphere in the office is very bad as Stanley our accountant who does bugger all apart from make sure he gets paid for doing bugger all was in yesterday. As normal he went through the entire staff, slagged us all off and barked on about how the company is failing and we're all incompetent. He's a racist and all round horror. He called me an immigrant recently, an insult I'd have him on an Industrial Tribunal for before you could say 'Sangatte Detention Centre'
I'd call him an F'ing *ew, but that would be 'racialistic' and 'prejudiced' innit! Also I do quite like kosher things too, so have to be careful, I'm rarely seen without a 'baigel' in my face, chomping on a 'cholla' or fishing a pickled gherkin out of a big ole jar. 'The Producers' is one of my favorite films too and I always liked Maureen Lipman in the BT adds and I think Vanessa Feltz is great (so long as you don't have to look at her, SHEESH). Can someone point the poor girl in the direction of Rigby & Peller PURLEASE!
So I had words with one of my bosses, aparently he's going to be given his marching orders, but I'll believe it when my foot is connecting rapidly with his over sized arse as he leaves the office.
OY FAVOY, ENOUGH ALREADY!
By way of an invitation and by means of changing the subject rapidly, I would like to invite you all to suggest words that you'd like to see returned to the modern lexicon. There's always a tedious thing in the paper every year when the Oxford English Dictionary is republished about words that have been newly entered. Normally nowadays it to do with street 'culcha', chavs or office jargon. But what about words that drop off, words that people no longer tend to use. My friend Sam used the word 'Luncheon' today in an email. I was thrilled, no one takes 'Luncheon' anymore, they 'grab a sangwidge', go to Pret a Minge or 'work thru'. 'Thru', now that's a word I hate, lazy American import, Monday thru Wednesday, what rot!
So Luncheon has re-entered my modern lexicon.
Those who know me well, know I'm fond of the words 'betwixt, splice, twain, Tis, thou, etc. So if you have any suggestions, do let me know.
Right, file has now saved, better lock up the office as it get's spooky and you know how I think everywhere is hauted, COS IT IS!
Well as you're here I may as well tell you that I am still at work , it's 8pm now waiting for a file to save for the Alton Towers job.
Today has been fraught, the atmosphere in the office is very bad as Stanley our accountant who does bugger all apart from make sure he gets paid for doing bugger all was in yesterday. As normal he went through the entire staff, slagged us all off and barked on about how the company is failing and we're all incompetent. He's a racist and all round horror. He called me an immigrant recently, an insult I'd have him on an Industrial Tribunal for before you could say 'Sangatte Detention Centre'
I'd call him an F'ing *ew, but that would be 'racialistic' and 'prejudiced' innit! Also I do quite like kosher things too, so have to be careful, I'm rarely seen without a 'baigel' in my face, chomping on a 'cholla' or fishing a pickled gherkin out of a big ole jar. 'The Producers' is one of my favorite films too and I always liked Maureen Lipman in the BT adds and I think Vanessa Feltz is great (so long as you don't have to look at her, SHEESH). Can someone point the poor girl in the direction of Rigby & Peller PURLEASE!
So I had words with one of my bosses, aparently he's going to be given his marching orders, but I'll believe it when my foot is connecting rapidly with his over sized arse as he leaves the office.
OY FAVOY, ENOUGH ALREADY!
By way of an invitation and by means of changing the subject rapidly, I would like to invite you all to suggest words that you'd like to see returned to the modern lexicon. There's always a tedious thing in the paper every year when the Oxford English Dictionary is republished about words that have been newly entered. Normally nowadays it to do with street 'culcha', chavs or office jargon. But what about words that drop off, words that people no longer tend to use. My friend Sam used the word 'Luncheon' today in an email. I was thrilled, no one takes 'Luncheon' anymore, they 'grab a sangwidge', go to Pret a Minge or 'work thru'. 'Thru', now that's a word I hate, lazy American import, Monday thru Wednesday, what rot!
So Luncheon has re-entered my modern lexicon.
Those who know me well, know I'm fond of the words 'betwixt, splice, twain, Tis, thou, etc. So if you have any suggestions, do let me know.
Right, file has now saved, better lock up the office as it get's spooky and you know how I think everywhere is hauted, COS IT IS!
Wednesday, 26 March 2008
Welcome to Greater Dulwich Heights
You are very welcome to my new 'long awaited' blog. From Greater Dulwich Heights I will spout musings and observations of such unfathomable inconsequenciality about life in and around this lofty area of South London that you'll want to stab your eyes with pins.
Keep a look out in the future for my sub blog 'LIFE ON THE HeathEDGE' to hear about the extraordinary goings on in the estate in which I live that would give any soap opera a run for its money. Due to legal reasons it will have to edited substantially.
I hope to be up and running soon and look forward to hearing from you.
The Laird of GDH
Keep a look out in the future for my sub blog 'LIFE ON THE HeathEDGE' to hear about the extraordinary goings on in the estate in which I live that would give any soap opera a run for its money. Due to legal reasons it will have to edited substantially.
I hope to be up and running soon and look forward to hearing from you.
The Laird of GDH
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