Gunpowder, Treason and Plot

Those of you who watched the footage from the first Gulf War might be forgiven for thinking that Transpennine had added to their calumnities by not only getting the timetable wrong, but had also now committed the further error of depositing me, via a time loop, in a war zone instead of at Hull's Paragon Station at 18.38. But no, the following clips are from Bonfire Night, or Guy Fawke's Night, November 5th, and the proceeding week.


The volume of Fireworks let off must be considerable, the barrage has continued from nightfall till about 23.00 every evening for the last week. A possible Career Option (No23) occurs to me, but I wonder how the request would be received at Jobcentre Plus if I enquired whether help and advice might be forthcoming in the area of Making Explosions.


The cats have been confined to Barracks during evening hours.This advice was first proferred by a friendly Policeman, advice I totally ignored until a "banger" went off about twenty feet from where Tosh was practising the Classic Pounce. Tosh's Pouncing Practice resembles Little Kanga's Jumping Practice in the Sandpit - a not quite grown up replication of an adult behaviour, and as such is very cute - the target (usually a leaf) is spotted, the moggie crouches low, bum wiggling until it reaches a critical frequency of wiggle, then the Pounce. Usually the leaf escapes unharmed.

After ignoring the Policeman's advice, I took Tosh out for his first nightly constitutional, but the firework startled him mid-pounce. He ran off in every conceivable direction and disappeared for three hours while fireworks exploded in the sky around him.


After I found him, very scared, I decided to keep the cats indoors for a few days until Guy Fawkes Festival Week is done. Guy Fawkes Night used to be, in my childhood, one evening involving some Sparklers, a pathetic Catherine Wheel and maybe two rockets(all supervised by my father, wearing a full protective asbestos suit) is over. Tosh was also quite scared by the incident, although as with all cats, is now more determined than ever to get out, especially because he cannot. I don't know who's behaviour is more contrary - cats wanting to venture outside in the full knowledge that it will be a terrifying, dangerous experience, or humans celebrating so exuberantly the failure of an act of terrorism.

Mushrooms and Gardens

Walking round the garden with the cats, mushrooms are spotted. Fall is a beautiful season.



These slideshows are pretty small but if you click wildly on the shots, you can get to our Picasa page, and from there all the images can be seen bigger in a full slideshow. Watch this post, it will be added to during the course of the evening and tomorrow.

Halloween 2007

Halloween Party last night at Will McGowan's. Will is a post-grad student at Hull. We've met once before and he's a lot of fun. Nel and I walk the short distance from our apartment to Will's house. The walk is noteworthy, mostly because despite looking 'interesting' the locals just ignore us completely as we walk down the street.



Like most University parties, the mix of nationalities is a massive contrast to my daily work - Hungarian, Irish, Scottish, Italian, Colombian, English, Icelandic and German. We all have one thing in common though, which is an ability to get thoroughly drunk very quickly - a skill that all Universities seem to excel in teaching.

The real Halloween is Wednesday of the coming week.

Bruogh, Howden, Selby, Leeds

Brough



It may appear that Case No 3459162 is moribund, given the lack of recent posts, but not so. The case has now, as North American Reality Show contestants are fond of saying, stepped up to the next level. I believe that everything can be fixed, even Transpennine Express, and have now put in motion a course of action that will possibly bring the Government down. I have written to every English member of Parliament, every councillor, every Member of the European Parliament, every committee member on every transport committee covering the geographical areas served by the trains that I am daily delayed on. This area includes (East to West) Hull, Brough, Howden, Selby, Leeds, Huddersfield and Manchester and involved a lot of copy and pasting.

HowdenThe provocation that caused this latest intensifying of my campaign was a Customer Services response to my latest weekly report to Transpennine Express. The response contained the following second paragraph, the first two sentences of which are reproduced, verbatim, below:

"Although I am grateful for your comments regarding allocation of a specific number of seats. Whilst we do not wish any service to become uncomfortable, passengers will be allowed to board until such time that as we consider safety may be breached."

As if the grammar was not bad enough ( or totally incomprehensible), the letter continues "I am very sorry that you were unable to travel with your bicycle....". This is rubbish. I was able to travel with the trusty Fuji. I was simply not allowed to travel with my steed.

Selby


The response from various officials has been illuminating. The New Labour representatives, by and large, have proposed setting up a Steering Committee to consider the possibility of establishing a Review Body focusing on my issues as a travel stakeholder and with the possibility of an urgent Action Group being formed at the end of a consultation process to find out whether there is a problem or not. The Conservative representatives have been the most plainly spoken, and approachable, frankly describing the service as a problem, and promising to meet with TransPennine to find out what solutions are proposed.

Despite all my previous political education, I find the contrast between the New Labour responses and the Conservative response to be akin to the contrast between Canadian realtors and English realtors - creepy versus Down to Earth. Where I diverge from the Conservative perspective is on solutions. I propose complete re-nationalization under workers control, with public executions just prior to kick-off at major soccer matches of any underperforming Rail Executive, whereas the Conservatives propose allowing the Free Market another twenty years to prove that "the market" WILL deliver better services to us, the consumer, and when these services do finally arrive they will be well worth the wait.

The photos in this post were taken from a seated position (on the floor) of the 7.33 as some of my fellow passengers became hidden during our commute. The same images were sent to Transpennine Express a week ago. Their response is awaited.

London 13th -14th October

A very busy weekend in London, accompanied by much drinking, after a very busy week.

First photo shows Nel and Joanie meeting up again in Rose Street, this time The City Of Westminster, London:


Next photo is me, Gengis and Charlayan in Christine's flat. Gengis is Charlayan's dad. The recumbent caterpillar on his upper lip is not a fashion choice. Gengis is an actor in Turkey and his current role requires the facial fuzz. That's Genghis' excuse. I have no excuse for my appearance other than severe tiredness. Charlayan should not really have been in the picture, because she just makes Genghis, but particularly me, look bad. Sometime later that night more drinkies were imbibed with Dave, my old mate from all those years ago in Liverpool, Di and Alistair (more good old friends), Christine, and Nel's sister Jane.

Next day we went to Jane's house in North London and hung out with her daughter's Sadie, Lydia and Niome. And Lydia's daughter, the very young Ruby. It was great to hang out with these guys, they're all just so grounded, each in their own way. The only worry was that Jane's long time partner - Malcolm - has had a stroke and Jane was visiting him in hospital. Personally I think Malcolm's great, although I only met him a couple of times, but he's also a typical contractor - bad diet, high stress levels, no exercise. The passage of time, and the real process of ageing, really begins to hit home when I realized that someone YOUNGER than me (43) had had a stroke.

Jane's crowd were all off for a meal to celebrate Niome's birthday, and were getting glammed up as we left, so no photos, I'm afraid. However, I can report that they're all as glamourous as ever. I don't think I'll ever forget meeting this crew at Halifax Airport, about four years after we had arrived in Canada. Halifax airport does attract a relatively limited, but fairly easily identifiable clientelle, from check shirted apple farmers returning to the Annapolis Valley to ruddy Newfoundlanders to the sensibly clad fleece brigade that, I think, we'd (happily) joined by this time. Jane's party exited the plane in blur of leopardskin, high heels, glitter, sunglasses and leather. I still remember one apple farmer spilling his Tim Hortons over his best checked shirt as the party's heels click-clacked past him.

All in all it was an good weekend. Ruby has not developed into another formidable Large woman, but give her time, a certain glint in her eye gave the game away. Great Uncle Martin will be loosing arguments with this one for years to come.

The Only Way is Up.....

Expressing it in millions does'nt really help. We have just offered a quarter of a million dollars for a practically derelict, possibly structurally unsound, small inner city terrace in the UK's second worst place to live. This is actually an improvement on the position if we'd have done the same thing last year, because since we've arrived, Hull has been elevated from the worst place to live in the UK to the second worst place to live in the UK.

Furthermore, the house has almost no garden, and sitting tenants in the form of a Polish family who could kibosh the whole deal if they decide not to move out. When we visit the house, the teenage sons of the household are at home, looking after their younger brothers. It is a touching, fraternal scene; THIS is what extended families are all about. With plaster falling off the walls, the elder brothers are guiding their younger siblings through a complicated computer game, in their bedroom, the walls of which are plastered in hard core porn. And no, Grasshopper, I do'nt mean pawn.

The realtor is refreshingly unlike any Canadian realtor we met. Where a Canadian realtor would tell us that the property needs some "TLC", Emma, our English professional tells me, "I hope you've brought a mask - the smell in here is terrible". She volunteers that the house is "completely run-down, a total mess", when a Canadian would emphasize it's "good bones". She tells me that the UK housing market is in meltdown, and that the seller, whom she represents, will be lucky to get the asking price. Michelle Zareski, the Canadian realtor who sold our house in Halifax is spinning in her hypothetical, future, grave. How, on Earth, asks hypothetical Michelle, can you deal in property in an honest and straightforward manner if you don't excessively flatter your clients and lie to them at every available opportunity?

Measurement of Hull's status is not, for once in this country, a matter of committee or stakeholder decided, but rather is based on a statistical analysis of conditions in all 434 municipalities in England, Scotland and Wales, using measurements of crime rates, unemployment rates, environmental factors, access to Health Care, Educational facilities and leisure activities. The stats are presented by a programme called "Relocation, Relocation", but after careful checking, they do correspond closely with an annual Government analysis, and are not just sensational televisual hype.

For those who did'nt watch the programme, excerpts are reproduced below, including the first excerpt which features the second BEST place to live in the country, Winchester. Te rest of the clips belong to Hull. Excuse the editing, I have not yet mastered this facilty, I just hope you get the general idea. The only explanatory comments I can add to the videos are that we live in "The Avenues" and they are pretty cool, that the beer is cheap(and it shows) and that regeneration in the UK seems to be ubiquitous. I just don't understand what the regeneration is based on, unless it is an endless loop of credit. A snake, which surely, must swallow it's own tail at some point. Incidentally, view the first video twice and take note of the cost of a one bedroom flat - £200,00 or $450,000. It makes our purchase look like a bargain.



Fortunately, for The Boffin and I, these statistics are, at the moment moot points, and largely irrelevant to our life. Hull's fortunes do not really impinge on our life in a significant way, apart from my necessary commute, but the roots of why I have to commute are so far in the past, (related to decisions I made in my twenties), that much as I want to, I cannot blame anyone but myself (and possibly Transpennine Express) for my commute. Anyway, having now both secured gainful employment, we are, for the moment well insulated from the realities of Hull.

For me at least, we have happy cats; a new, burgeoning career as a wordsmith; the Boffin's career is going well; we have some money to play with; good friends;we've sold the house in Canada; we have a Halloween Party to plan for AND we've sold our car in Canada without any penalty. For us, from here on in, things can only get better, and they were pretty good to begin with. Excuse the punctuation in this paragraph, I an unforgiveably unaware of the correct form.

Tomorrow may therefore see us in theoretical possession of a quarter million dollar house. Naturally, you are all invited to stay. Just do'nt scratch the wood floors.