Smut

It’s not pixie dust, but it keeps raining down on me from somewhere. At the end of last week I think it was, we found smears of what looked like black soot on one of my tee shirts when I got home. I don’t think I had been on a tube train at the time, but right now I can’t remember. Anyway, I put the tee shirt in the wash and that was that.

On occasion over the years, I have had the same thing happen, usually on light clothing and often when I have been on a train above or underground. It’s particularly odd since it’s getting on for fifty or so years since steam trains were phased out on surface trains and probably nearer a century since they were phased out underground. I don’t smoke any more, so it’s not me, either. I haven’t had a fall of soot for quite some time, now.

Last night we noticed more sooty smears on my pale green chino jacket after we came home on the train. I still have no idea where they came from, but they meant that I had to dig out my other jacket for this morning, which luckily, I had dry cleaned a few weeks ago.

In the parade of shops down by Totteridge & Whetsone Tube Station, there is a dry cleaner’s shop. It may not be the best in the area, but it is very convenient, so I use it. I took my chino jacket in this morning along with the tweed jacket that I have been threatening to get cleaned since I stopped wearing it earlier in the summer. It’s spent the past three or four months draped over a chair, gently fizzing in the heat and accusing me of dry cleaning indolence. It has a point. Anyway, it’s there for a scrub and brush up, too, so both jackets can treat it as a spa experience for clothing and get the most out of it while gossiping. Jackets are notorious gossips.

The thing is though, the woman who runs the dry cleaner’s is a foreigner; I think she may be from Eastern Europe somewhere, but quite where defeats me. I’d like to say Transylvania since she looks a bit like Morticia in transition to becoming Grandma Addams. She has the shape of the former, but the colouring of the latter. She is also very abrupt in her manner and has the strangest pronunciation and accent: ”Zo, two jarkets. Dhey ouill be reddich¹ on Ouedeneshday. Fiv-deen pounce, police.”²

Actually I made that last bit up, I pay the ransom when I get the clothes back.

It is most disconcerting; I hope the jackets enjoy their holiday.



¹As in oui and loch respectively.

²If you couldn’t translate, allow me: “So, two jackets. They will be ready on Wednesday. Fifteen pounds, please”.

Smut

It’s not pixie dust, but it keeps raining down on me from somewhere. At the end of last week I think it was, we found smears of what looked like black soot on one of my tee shirts when I got home. I don’t think I had been on a tube train at the time, but right now I can’t remember. Anyway, I put the tee shirt in the wash and that was that.

On occasion over the years, I have had the same thing happen, usually on light clothing and often when I have been on a train above or underground. It’s particularly odd since it’s getting on for fifty or so years since steam trains were phased out on surface trains and probably nearer a century since they were phased out underground. I don’t smoke any more, so it’s not me, either. I haven’t had a fall of soot for quite some time, now.

Last night we noticed more sooty smears on my pale green chino jacket after we came home on the train. I still have no idea where they came from, but they meant that I had to dig out my other jacket for this morning, which luckily, I had dry cleaned a few weeks ago.

In the parade of shops down by Totteridge & Whetsone Tube Station, there is a dry cleaner’s shop. It may not be the best in the area, but it is very convenient, so I use it. I took my chino jacket in this morning along with the tweed jacket that I have been threatening to get cleaned since I stopped wearing it earlier in the summer. It’s spent the past three or four months draped over a chair, gently fizzing in the heat and accusing me of dry cleaning indolence. It has a point. Anyway, it’s there for a scrub and brush up, too, so both jackets can treat it as a spa experience for clothing and get the most out of it while gossiping. Jackets are notorious gossips.

The thing is though, the woman who runs the dry cleaner’s is a foreigner; I think she may be from Eastern Europe somewhere, but quite where defeats me. I’d like to say Transylvania since she looks a bit like Morticia in transition to becoming Grandma Addams. She has the shape of the former, but the colouring of the latter. She is also very abrupt in her manner and has the strangest pronunciation and accent: ”Zo, two jarkets. Dhey ouill be reddich¹ on Ouedeneshday. Fiv-deen pounce, police.”²

Actually I made that last bit up, I pay the ransom when I get the clothes back.

It is most disconcerting; I hope the jackets enjoy their holiday.



¹As in oui and loch respectively.

²If you couldn’t translate, allow me: “So, two jackets. They will be ready on Wednesday. Fifteen pounds, please”.

No more Heroes

Well done to the chattering classes who have it in for the BBC. Most of them have it in for BBC news, because depending upon your political views, it is either pro-Tory or pro-Labour; too PC, or not PC enough, too trendy or too staid. Most people seem to quite like Dear Old Auntie, but they are just the poor shmucks who pay the licence fee, watch the TV programmes and listen to the radio shows.

The ones who complain are the politicos and do-gooders who feel that a public corporation should follow their world view exclusively. I tend to the view that if the Liberals, the Tories and Labour all complain that the corporation is biased against them; the BBC must be doing something right.

Over the past few years, the BBC license fee has come under increasing criticism. It’s not that bad. The whole of the BBC is funded by the annual fee of £142.50 plus anything it makes from its world-wide marketing. It is not allowed to raise cash by advertising. Anyway, the complainers will soon have something to complain about. The relentless cost cutting the BBC is imposing to show that it is listening to its critics means that they are dropping such fare as Heroes and The Wire. Soon, you will only be able to watch them on DVD, satellite or cable. At least with DVD you get to keep them. How many weeks’ TV do you get on satellite or cable for £142.50? So if you don’t have satellite or cable, it means that download is all that is left if you want to stay current. But that’s illegal, too. Not that broadband outside the main cities is anything to write home about, so downloading isn’t always an option anyway.

Maybe if these gob-shites actually did something useful instead of simply complaining all the time and interfering where they are not wanted, we might get somewhere.

I’m not saying the BBC is perfect and I’m not saying that it shouldn’t do some restructuring and rethinking, but it really does get out of hand. Ninety per cent of TV is already rubbish, now it’s going to be more of such fare as Strictly Come X Talent Get Me Out of Big Brother.

And endless fekking soaps. Always endless fekking soaps.

No more Heroes

Well done to the chattering classes who have it in for the BBC. Most of them have it in for BBC news, because depending upon your political views, it is either pro-Tory or pro-Labour; too PC, or not PC enough, too trendy or too staid. Most people seem to quite like Dear Old Auntie, but they are just the poor shmucks who pay the licence fee, watch the TV programmes and listen to the radio shows.

The ones who complain are the politicos and do-gooders who feel that a public corporation should follow their world view exclusively. I tend to the view that if the Liberals, the Tories and Labour all complain that the corporation is biased against them; the BBC must be doing something right.

Over the past few years, the BBC license fee has come under increasing criticism. It’s not that bad. The whole of the BBC is funded by the annual fee of £142.50 plus anything it makes from its world-wide marketing. It is not allowed to raise cash by advertising. Anyway, the complainers will soon have something to complain about. The relentless cost cutting the BBC is imposing to show that it is listening to its critics means that they are dropping such fare as Heroes and The Wire. Soon, you will only be able to watch them on DVD, satellite or cable. At least with DVD you get to keep them. How many weeks’ TV do you get on satellite or cable for £142.50? So if you don’t have satellite or cable, it means that download is all that is left if you want to stay current. But that’s illegal, too. Not that broadband outside the main cities is anything to write home about, so downloading isn’t always an option anyway.

Maybe if these gob-shites actually did something useful instead of simply complaining all the time and interfering where they are not wanted, we might get somewhere.

I’m not saying the BBC is perfect and I’m not saying that it shouldn’t do some restructuring and rethinking, but it really does get out of hand. Ninety per cent of TV is already rubbish, now it’s going to be more of such fare as Strictly Come X Talent Get Me Out of Big Brother.

And endless fekking soaps. Always endless fekking soaps.

Laurel and Hardy

I was pleased to discover when I got home that DHL had delivered my 21 disc DVD collection of Laurel & Hardy movies and shorts.

I have been thinking about buying it for ages and inexplicably the price started sneaking up. When I saw it PlayTrade for £32 post free that made my decision for me!

Fantastic!

Posted via LiveJournal.app.

Laurel and Hardy

I was pleased to discover when I got home that DHL had delivered my 21 disc DVD collection of Laurel & Hardy movies and shorts.

I have been thinking about buying it for ages and inexplicably the price started sneaking up. When I saw it PlayTrade for £32 post free that made my decision for me!

Fantastic!

Posted via LiveJournal.app.