Adjustments

Well, the weather seems to have changed. It’s gone somewhat cooler, but the humidity has ramped up to compensate. The unique design of the London Underground system means, therefore, that enough air gets in to take the humidity into enclosed carriages, but not enough gets in to cool it down, so half an hour of commuting between Liverpool Street (as my journey now is) and Victoria has me sitting like a limp wash flannel, slowly rendering down like suet, which I suppose is as reasonable an analogy as any.

The Circle Line, which is beginning to displace memories of the Northern Line in my legend, is somewhat like the mass transit version of the yeti, I think. It is rarely sighted, slow moving and undependable, yet many believe it to be there despite the evidence. Aldgate station is a reasonable place to look for it if ever you wish to track it down; it is there that Circle Line trains congregate for no apparent reason, while Metropolitan Line trains sail through with sanguine indifference. I have not been using the route long enough to identify the local characters, if indeed, there are any. I miss CSG. I am happy to note, however, that the incidence of reality engineers is much higher than my old route, especially once past Liverpool Street. I suspect that this accounts in some way for the scarcity of fae denizens.

We have discovered that there is a dimension warp in Ilford, however. On Monday after work, we decided to walk home through the Exchange Shopping Mall. Previously we had entered it through Wilkinson’s store and been decanted in due course onto the High Road. By using the main entrance, however, we found our way to a multi-storey car park that decanted us into an entirely different part of town, in the opposite direction to that we had expected. There are no ley lines in Ilford to account for this, but I think there may be a ley Gordian knot.

On another note, it is now a little over a fortnight since we moved in. I don’t think that any work was done to the garden for at least a week before that. I am no gardener and have never wanted to be, but I think we shall soon have to apply a flame thrower to it. The speed of plant growth just since we have been there has been remarkable. I am sure that I have heard tribal drums from somewhere down the path and there are strange rustlings in the undergrowth after dark. We may have an elderly Japanese soldier who does not know that the war is over hidden in there. It would account for the occasional loud report we have heard.

It does not look now, as though we will be adopting a Cat Called Hitler. His owners seem to have reclaimed him with grateful thanks. I have mixed feelings on that front. I am not overly fond of cats, but had become reconciled with the thought of adopting one as Furtle is keen on the idea and it would be less burdensome than her alternative plan of keeping chickens (!). I suppose that if we cannot have a cat called Hitler, I shall have to go along with the concept of another feline. My condition, which I believe I may have mentioned previously, is that it be called Fenchurch.

Adjustments

Well, the weather seems to have changed. It’s gone somewhat cooler, but the humidity has ramped up to compensate. The unique design of the London Underground system means, therefore, that enough air gets in to take the humidity into enclosed carriages, but not enough gets in to cool it down, so half an hour of commuting between Liverpool Street (as my journey now is) and Victoria has me sitting like a limp wash flannel, slowly rendering down like suet, which I suppose is as reasonable an analogy as any.

The Circle Line, which is beginning to displace memories of the Northern Line in my legend, is somewhat like the mass transit version of the yeti, I think. It is rarely sighted, slow moving and undependable, yet many believe it to be there despite the evidence. Aldgate station is a reasonable place to look for it if ever you wish to track it down; it is there that Circle Line trains congregate for no apparent reason, while Metropolitan Line trains sail through with sanguine indifference. I have not been using the route long enough to identify the local characters, if indeed, there are any. I miss CSG. I am happy to note, however, that the incidence of reality engineers is much higher than my old route, especially once past Liverpool Street. I suspect that this accounts in some way for the scarcity of fae denizens.

We have discovered that there is a dimension warp in Ilford, however. On Monday after work, we decided to walk home through the Exchange Shopping Mall. Previously we had entered it through Wilkinson’s store and been decanted in due course onto the High Road. By using the main entrance, however, we found our way to a multi-storey car park that decanted us into an entirely different part of town, in the opposite direction to that we had expected. There are no ley lines in Ilford to account for this, but I think there may be a ley Gordian knot.

On another note, it is now a little over a fortnight since we moved in. I don’t think that any work was done to the garden for at least a week before that. I am no gardener and have never wanted to be, but I think we shall soon have to apply a flame thrower to it. The speed of plant growth just since we have been there has been remarkable. I am sure that I have heard tribal drums from somewhere down the path and there are strange rustlings in the undergrowth after dark. We may have an elderly Japanese soldier who does not know that the war is over hidden in there. It would account for the occasional loud report we have heard.

It does not look now, as though we will be adopting a Cat Called Hitler. His owners seem to have reclaimed him with grateful thanks. I have mixed feelings on that front. I am not overly fond of cats, but had become reconciled with the thought of adopting one as Furtle is keen on the idea and it would be less burdensome than her alternative plan of keeping chickens (!). I suppose that if we cannot have a cat called Hitler, I shall have to go along with the concept of another feline. My condition, which I believe I may have mentioned previously, is that it be called Fenchurch.