Moron

I've just got on the Tube to work. The cooler weather has done nothing for some people's good manners or general attitude. A bloke at the station, having huffed in disbelief at the reported 10 minute wait for a Bank train used the information phone to confirm.

"Is that accurate, 10 minutes for the next Bank train?"

Inaudible reply.

"that's outrageous; completely unacceptable."

Inaudible reply.

"the service is unacceptable and you all expect huge pay rises."

I had some sympathy with that last bit, but he was still a tosser. Plus the fact it's drivers not station staff who are militant. Anyway, had he been more patient, he would have seen that the indicators at Totteridge and Whetstone are always changing. I doubt he'd have to wait for more than 5 minutes tops.

Oh well.

I have gone underground, so this will be rather less immediate a post than hoped. In the meantime I note that Creepy Swedish Guy has disappeared. I wonder where he went? Next stop Archway, that's far too soon for him!

Posted via LiveJournal.app.

Moron

I've just got on the Tube to work. The cooler weather has done nothing for some people's good manners or general attitude. A bloke at the station, having huffed in disbelief at the reported 10 minute wait for a Bank train used the information phone to confirm.

"Is that accurate, 10 minutes for the next Bank train?"

Inaudible reply.

"that's outrageous; completely unacceptable."

Inaudible reply.

"the service is unacceptable and you all expect huge pay rises."

I had some sympathy with that last bit, but he was still a tosser. Plus the fact it's drivers not station staff who are militant. Anyway, had he been more patient, he would have seen that the indicators at Totteridge and Whetstone are always changing. I doubt he'd have to wait for more than 5 minutes tops.

Oh well.

I have gone underground, so this will be rather less immediate a post than hoped. In the meantime I note that Creepy Swedish Guy has disappeared. I wonder where he went? Next stop Archway, that's far too soon for him!

Posted via LiveJournal.app.

Email and Reading

In this post, I cover two unrelated topics to fill out time and relieve my boredom.

The email in this building has been acting the arse for the past couple of days. Sometime after lunch yesterday it stopped working at all for about two and a half hours. When the server woke up from its coma and delivered everything, it included an email telling us the email wasn’t working. Thanks for that.

The last email I received was 16.08 yesterday. That’s possible, but not probable, especially since I emailed myself about ten minutes ago from my gmail account to see if the system was working. I can send, but not receive, it appears. Doubtless I shall, in due course, receive an email telling me that the email system is not working.

Can’t wait.

Well, last night on the way home I read the end of the Poirot and although the baddie was the same as in the TV series, the denouement was still somewhat different – at least I think it was. I think the TV version may have been revised slightly in one important way to save the tender sensibilities of modern TV audiences, particularly those members who sit there note pad and pen in hand waiting to jot down the smallest thing that may offend them and then complain to the broadcaster. God rot them. Other changes were stylistic only.

So that’s Dumb Witness out of the way. I am taking a break from Agatha Christie to read one of Furtle’s Steampunk books: Affinity Bridge, by George Mann. It has Victorian Zeppelins, clockwork automata, pea-soupers and zombies

I am hopeful that it will live up to the blurb on the cover – and Furtle enjoyed it, I recall.

Email and Reading

In this post, I cover two unrelated topics to fill out time and relieve my boredom.

The email in this building has been acting the arse for the past couple of days. Sometime after lunch yesterday it stopped working at all for about two and a half hours. When the server woke up from its coma and delivered everything, it included an email telling us the email wasn’t working. Thanks for that.

The last email I received was 16.08 yesterday. That’s possible, but not probable, especially since I emailed myself about ten minutes ago from my gmail account to see if the system was working. I can send, but not receive, it appears. Doubtless I shall, in due course, receive an email telling me that the email system is not working.

Can’t wait.

Well, last night on the way home I read the end of the Poirot and although the baddie was the same as in the TV series, the denouement was still somewhat different – at least I think it was. I think the TV version may have been revised slightly in one important way to save the tender sensibilities of modern TV audiences, particularly those members who sit there note pad and pen in hand waiting to jot down the smallest thing that may offend them and then complain to the broadcaster. God rot them. Other changes were stylistic only.

So that’s Dumb Witness out of the way. I am taking a break from Agatha Christie to read one of Furtle’s Steampunk books: Affinity Bridge, by George Mann. It has Victorian Zeppelins, clockwork automata, pea-soupers and zombies

I am hopeful that it will live up to the blurb on the cover – and Furtle enjoyed it, I recall.

Hirsute?

Comb-overs, or more colloquially, Bobby Charltons are bad news at any time. No one notices a baldy bloke if he just shaves what’s left of his hair down and keeps it short. Everybody notices a Bobby Charlton and everyone is secretly as hopeful that the wind will get under it and slap the hair across the bloke’s shoulder as is anxious that it shouldn’t.

Despite that, many otherwise sane men comb a lick of extra-long hair over their bald pates and glue it down with Brylcreem or similar and hope beyond hope that no-one notices their lack of follicular coverage.

They may as well install a flashing neon sign pointing at their head.

I admit to some sympathy with them, I passed through some years of increasingly sparse coverage before I bit the bullet and asked the barber to hit my head with a number 2 razor along the back and sides and a number 1 on top. Once I was over that initial trauma, it took about two shearings before I defaulted to the number 1 razor all over my head. Nowadays it’s the number one followed by a saunter over the crown with a shaving razor to get rid of the bum fluff too fine to be picked up by the main razor.

The point is: even in the darkest depths of denial over losing my fleece, never did I contemplate a comb-over.

Today I saw my first dreadlock comb-over. Or rather a dreadlock pile up. They weren’t quite combed across the chap’s pate, but they were brought over and then, for want of a better word, coiled around the baldy bit. Presumably their weight holds them down, though there must be some fixing somewhere to do the Brylcreem duties. What made it all the more poignant was the fact that there was a clear gap at the back between the remaining hair and the combed over dreads.

Get the clippers out, man. Don’t look like a plum!

Hirsute?

Comb-overs, or more colloquially, Bobby Charltons are bad news at any time. No one notices a baldy bloke if he just shaves what’s left of his hair down and keeps it short. Everybody notices a Bobby Charlton and everyone is secretly as hopeful that the wind will get under it and slap the hair across the bloke’s shoulder as is anxious that it shouldn’t.

Despite that, many otherwise sane men comb a lick of extra-long hair over their bald pates and glue it down with Brylcreem or similar and hope beyond hope that no-one notices their lack of follicular coverage.

They may as well install a flashing neon sign pointing at their head.

I admit to some sympathy with them, I passed through some years of increasingly sparse coverage before I bit the bullet and asked the barber to hit my head with a number 2 razor along the back and sides and a number 1 on top. Once I was over that initial trauma, it took about two shearings before I defaulted to the number 1 razor all over my head. Nowadays it’s the number one followed by a saunter over the crown with a shaving razor to get rid of the bum fluff too fine to be picked up by the main razor.

The point is: even in the darkest depths of denial over losing my fleece, never did I contemplate a comb-over.

Today I saw my first dreadlock comb-over. Or rather a dreadlock pile up. They weren’t quite combed across the chap’s pate, but they were brought over and then, for want of a better word, coiled around the baldy bit. Presumably their weight holds them down, though there must be some fixing somewhere to do the Brylcreem duties. What made it all the more poignant was the fact that there was a clear gap at the back between the remaining hair and the combed over dreads.

Get the clippers out, man. Don’t look like a plum!

Unconvincing

I can't pretend that I'm happy about the way Wolves progressed into the 3rd round of the Carling Cup, 0-0 against Swindon after extra time and then winning on penalties, but...

Being unable to score against a team two divisions lower than yourselves is not a promising portent for the season ahead. Still, let's hope that this is a wake up call while we're only right at the beginning of the campaign.

Unconvincing

I can't pretend that I'm happy about the way Wolves progressed into the 3rd round of the Carling Cup, 0-0 against Swindon after extra time and then winning on penalties, but...

Being unable to score against a team two divisions lower than yourselves is not a promising portent for the season ahead. Still, let's hope that this is a wake up call while we're only right at the beginning of the campaign.