Coronavirus streets in Manchester - LXXIX: Reading the Signs We Miss

The Streets of Manchester

The fascinating people that live in this city or visit it never cease to captivate me. Whilst I do attempt to be inconspicuous, I nearly always fail to blend in, but the attention usually brings compliments that I am glad to accept with gratitude.

The streets of Manchester bring both the familiar and the revealing. Looking at the health dashboard for the north of England, there have been outbreaks of measles and other respiratory viruses, but COVID-19 remains six years on.

I take Coronavirus vaccine boosters twice a year because it is an evolving virus with strains, we have literally forgotten to keep track of. I'm on the take-your-jabs side of the debate.

An Arresting Entrance

Attending a function yesterday, someone arrived late enough to be noticed in more ways than one. First, it was her blonde hair with red highlights and bows to the left and right, very much as one would have imagined Heidi would look, or a traditional Kellnerin (beer maid) at Oktoberfest.

Her dress was purple and slightly body-hugging, and her shoes were platform boots, the type that makes your gait look like a plod. Each footstep was an ungainly stamp, not so much soldiering but what you might observe from a horse in canter.

Her face had a chubby, childlike quality, but it left us wondering if she had left a face mask on, because it seemed unlikely that this was the result of make-up application.

A Mystery Unfolds

An intriguing personality, you might think. You had the urge to introduce yourself and then found yourself tongue-tied, unsure which of the thousand questions coursing through your thoughts to ask first.

After she sat down, it became obvious that she was unsure of what to do. I plucked up the courage to walk across the room to tell her that food was being served around a corner in the longer part of the hall. She seemed to prefer a sprint to a walk, even in this enclosed space, displaying an unnecessary urgency that drew concerned attention.

Even after several people tried to engage her, none came away with her name, who she was, where she came from, or who she was wearing for either fashion or make-up. I doubt anyone paid compliments, and if anything commendable were said, it might have been along the lines of, “You're quite brave to leave home like that.” Everyone wondered who had broken all the mirrors and reflective surfaces in her home; I dare not say care home.

Reading the Signs

In retrospect, many of the signs were there. The sprint across the room when a walk would do, the inability to engage in small talk, the preference for group activities that required no conversation, even the styling choices that perhaps made perfect sense to her but read as incongruous to others.

These weren't eccentricities designed to provoke or performed awkwardness for effect. They were markers, perhaps, of someone navigating a neurotypical social space with a neurodivergent compass.

The unnecessary urgency, the difficulty with eye contact and introduction, the retreat into structured activities like dancing where the rules are clearer and the social demands more predictable; all of this suggested someone for whom these gatherings are both desired and exhausting. Someone who wanted to be there but lacked the social scaffolding that others take for granted.

The Enigma Departs

Later, she got involved in the dancing and some other activities you could do in a group without having to chat to anyone. She remained a mystery, an enigma of sorts, and we left nonplussed. She might have decided on being the girly doll version of Chucky.

She was Black.

A Google NotebookLM AI Audio Overview Discussion of this blog

George: Beach the sheep

Uber not about

For our second day in George, we were unsure of what to do apart from being able to get anywhere from our hotel which in its somewhat bucolic setting backing onto a golf course is hardly in the centre of town as the indicator from my hotel booking suggested.

We were excited about going to Victoria Bay Beach and then the Map of Africa viewpoint and as we were informed that Uber had reached George, we presumed the ease of getting about to a fault for even when we tried for an Uber there was no indication that cars that were about 12 minutes away would ever become available for our use.

In the end, we got the hotel reception to call us a taxicab and the driver that doubled as a tour guide availed us of his services for every place we chose to visit. The weather had taken a turn for the worse by the time we left the hotel that we arrived at Victoria Bay Beach with no enthusiasm to get into the water or relax on the beach.

More hype than type

Victoria Bay Beach is essentially a private beach with a security checkpoint and chalets held in families from long ago lined down the beach mostly up for rented accommodation or short stays than as homes. Much as there is a public right of access, there is nothing special about the place and even if we chose to stay there, after two nights with its isolated setting, we’ll probably seek the greater security of proximity to civilisation. If you are a surfer, you might find this place a treat indeed.

Our cab driver then took us to the Map of Africa viewpoint in the aptly named Wilderness, down a long nondescript dirt road to where the confluence of rivers appeared to map out from our observation point the depiction of Southern Africa, it was a hard-sell to suggest this was the map of Africa even at the most extreme stretch of the imagination. I could not find online any aerial view of this to confirm that Africa was mapped out on that terrain. How anyone has for any time gotten away with that scam escapes me, but we now know better.

Sheep may safely graze

Further up the road from this viewpoint was a paragliding site but the white horses (white foamy sea waves) ridden by high winds meant there was no paragliding activity. A sign on the field however caught my attention, “Please Do Not! Chase or Hassle the Sheep.”

We saw no sheep, but that was my highlight of the day as I was left wondering, how do you hassle sheep? Yet, when I think of it as I suggested in my Instagram post on the matter, sheep are intelligent, and for one, Shaun the Sheep is nobody’s fool.

Returning to our hotel, we decided to go for a wander to get a feel of George only to find out that there were no pavements on certain roads suggesting the town is best suited for vehicles. New developments on our way back had roads named after English golf courses. We would return and hire a car to get around. Dinner with Malaka at a restaurant closed an evening of pleasant and warm friendship.

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Coronavirus streets in Manchester - XXXVI

Students of escapism

This time last year, the cars were arriving to drop students off at their accommodations to resume at university, it was a pandemic disaster for them in so many ways. The cars have now returned to take the students back home. The holiday season is now upon us.

One student, a lady probably on a dare took was about to go for a ride with her friend. They hired the hostel bicycles and the first rode away whilst the one I observed needed a different kind of dexterity to have a riding start on a bicycle uphill. She was unsuccessful, that she wheeled the bicycle up to flatter and more level ground.

Signs of a lie

Further on, it was a deceptive fig tree moment as I saw a large shopfront sign that suggested Caribbean and West African foods and goods. Out of curiosity, I crossed the road, donned my mask and pushed at the door, it was locked. Soon, an Asian lady came to the door, it was locked because she had to go to the toilet.

Obviously, I told her why I had come to the shop, and she immediately said there was none of that fare in the shop, the sign had to come down. How I suppressed the Jesus anger in me not to curse like he did the fig tree that appeared to be quite leafy but without fruit eludes me, I did not even take umbrage at having wasted my time, I brought drinks before leaving. [Bible Gateway: Mark 11: 12-15]

That sign however should have come down a long time ago. Stepping out, I faced a Caribbean street food truck with jerk chicken and all that. I cannot say it is suited to my palate.

Eyeing the fish on the sign

The eyes have it

Signs with meaning and some that require a bit of research, though I could not ignore one big board as I step out of our apartment complex. It read, “Buy full set – Single lashes R400.”

For the purchaser, they probably know full well what is on sale, a lash of the whip it probably is not, something for the eyes would be a sight to see. I have seen lashes that could sweep streets, long and batting you wonder if the weight of those lashes would require eyelid training to open the eyes before they slam shut.

Single lashes might indicate the lashes for one eye which you have to pair up for the other eye, to match length, colour, quality, lift, just allow your imagination to run whatever course it chooses. Maybe there are cascading lashes, one mounted on the other in an installation of double or triple lashes. Better to be observed than to be tried out.

Fishing in Congolese cuisine

Further on at the bus terminus, a kiosk serving Africain (sic) foods beckons to patrons to come and try out from a list of foods with literally indecipherable names. I thought I will start with the first and then consider if the rest should be studied.

Mbika (na) Makayabu, the first read, which I found out was salted cod with sauteed vegetables, the name already a mouthful before you have tasted the cuisine. I know in my heart of hearts; I am not ready for this smorgasbord of street food. It is probably tastier than the name suggests, and we’ll leave it at that. It is of Congolese provenance, that’s a few thousand kilometres up north.

If you can follow Lingala or just watch the YouTube video, you can serve it up at home too.

Doubling over in Dutch and English Swimmingly

Dutching English

I see many Dutch signs, or what I mean is signs in the Netherlands apparently written in English that at times make my skin crawl and sometimes leaves me livid with rage.

Why, I ask myself don’t they employ a native English speaker to do a once over before they make the signs?

Obviously, the Dutch pride themselves in being able to communicate in English and I am learning a lot from a Swedish-Dutch friend who is studying to become an English teacher. I never knew it was so much hard work all because it comes so naturally to me and I am almost a purist – God forgive me.

This took the biscuit

The other day, we went out to one of those man-made beaches on the shores of a man-made lake in the middle of Rotterdam and as we were leaving there was a sign in Dutch with an English translation probably to cater for the more international crowd.

The Dutch can so easily fall into error when translating to English because they have the same words for belief and faith, grace and mercy, to bring back or to take somewhere – really too many to mention. I will not even go into announcements that sound like the finality of life as we know it when we arrive at station terminuses.

Anyway, it was to do with notifying about the pollution of the water and whether it was safe to swimming in it. The English will just refer to the water and we will implicitly know it is the lake but because the Dutch have to qualify and particularly reference an object, I ended up reading a phrase that went thus: If anything is wrong with the swimming water …

Swimming water? I’ll say no more but that was enough for a good 10-minute conversation with my teacher friend about correctness, rigour and the use of English even in a non-English-speaking country.

Keep and have your life

The one that gets to me the most is when I pass by passport control at Schiphol airport and the sign read. Please keep your passport and boarding pass ready. Keep is passable English, have will have been more correct.

Then Dutch signs themselves can be quite interesting and it was Saturday on my way to a wedding that I read the sign below at a railway crossing. It simply translates to – Will you stay alive? Then just wait.

I suppose the impatient risk being road kill or in this case rail track kill – after crossing, the barriers came down and that was a good 5-minute wait before they came up again allowing for three trains to pass that I really thought the crossing needed a bridge.

I have not known the Dutch to be that patient but on matters of life and death, I guess they’ll wait to live than rush to die.

Thought Picnic: To see a bicycle with unequal wheels

Bolts amiss with much damage

I returned to Amsterdam this afternoon to pick up my bicycle. It needed a basic repair job of attaching the back carriage to the body of the bicycle with two nuts and bolts.

I had planned to ride down to the repair shop where I bought it a few years ago with the intention of even doing the repairs myself if they had no time to see to it immediately.

As a walked up to the apartment block where I once lived, I was somewhat emotionless about it, it had become part of my past and it was necessary to be detached and move on swiftly.

When I saw the bicycle, some vandal had bent the back carriage out of shape such that the lower part near the hub of the wheel having lost a nut jutted into the spokes of the wheel – why anyone will find pleasure in doing that escapes me.

A quick work of it

Precarious as it was, I was able to do a temporary fix to ride the bicycle to the repair shop. The man recognised that I bought the bicycle from years before and I later reminded him that the second-hand bike I had before that once belonged to his mother who was quite a careful owner.

For years, I had used second-hand bikes that seemed to be what most people have though more are now getting new bicycles.

I was able to persuade them to do the job today and I was told to return in 30 minutes as I tacked on a few more adjustments like a new front lamp, air in the types, removing the annoying dynamo and just a basic service if time allows it.

Within 25 minutes they called to say it was ready, they had done everything and even sorted out the faulty switch on the rear lighting, the bicycle felt as good as mended as we had a light banter about other things.

Penny-farthing, plenty to point out

The repairman then said there was one bicycle he would really like to see me ride since I looked dressed for it – hat and all, except for the fact that I should have worn a bow-tie and not a day cravat.

As he showed me the bicycle, I realised I had only ever seen a penny-farthing in books and never in real life – that was really funny, if only I had the presence of mind to take a picture of it then.

Besides, I had to sure I could take my bicycle on the trains – apparently, we are not allowed to carry big bicycles on board during the rush hour and on my way into Amsterdam, I found that the trains had spaces allocated for bicycles with priority sticks to boot – so I made allowances for other to walk round my bicycle to use the fold-up seats but I did not have to be inconvenienced as to why my bicycle was on that coach.

I always have many times had the unique opportunity to point to signs on the train in terms of priority, noise, seating and much else – when I lost my way, my phone came to the rescue, I keyed in my destination and got vocal directions to help me get home.

Holiday Snaps: At the font of letters amiss

The baptism of the font

Being a veteran of desktop publishing when it was a technical feat requiring your read the manuals to know what you were doing, I think I have a good idea about typesetting.

This was a time when you only had three fonts, Times New Roman, Helvetica and Courier, you had various weights and learnt that you did not throw everything on the screen and print out on paper with the thought that you were some artistic genius.

Printers were expensive and memory was not cheap and when you got new fonts it took the best part of 8 hours or more to build the font tables for each weight – you appreciated the luxury of variety and with moderation applied what you had to differentiate your work from others.

Rue the fate of the guru

Serifs, san serifs, proportional spacing, kerning, ghosting, pitch were some of the many terms brought from the printing world into the domain of personal computer software.

What I was involved in was not typical of the cut and paste collages by Patrick & Pets Printing Press just down the street, this was legal publishing in volumes as much as 40 requiring thoroughness and consistency you had to be meticulous.

Along the way, you picked the flyer type of work knowing that you were encroaching on the turf of traditional printers who were loath to embrace technology or were afraid they would lose influence.

The part about influence was something I experienced when I interviewed for a job at the BBC Enterprises and I was told I was selling myself short, a euphemism for you are a threat to our cosy setup – I was being hired as a desktop publishing guru with pedigree and I was to report someone whose background was from the toil and graft of setting type – I moved on, but it was tough lesson in 1991.

Brewing tea from steak

In any case, desktop publishing is no more the exclusive technical field it once was; everyone can churn out that most impressive work or the downright rottenly bad thing thinking they have done a work of commendable art.

Another sign came into view just last night, very big type at a restaurant I might have dared to patronise, SILOIN STEAK it read, someone had dropped a letter - Arggh! And I wonder how rare it would have become if a few more letters were dropped to allow for larger type whilst fitting the words to the width of the A2 size poster.

The tricks of desktop publishing, language, correctness and fitting all reaching for some consensus like if the STEAK lost the S and the K, the meat of the meal would have metamorphosed into Ceylon Tea – the rumpus of forgetting to spell check signs and the trouble that ensues.

Even Es are good

However, the economic situation in Spain was brought into stark relief when I noticed that name tag on one of the waiters in the hotel restaurant had lost a letter, he said it was due to the cuts – it was centred to create excite the animosity between the Catalans and the Castellans, the former preferring to drop the E on the end and the latter keeping it.

Which brings me to a memory of childhood – songs on the Children’s Television Workshop about how the E on the end can make all the difference between a tub and a tube; a scar and a scare and when driving a car, do it with care – English suddenly takes on a modicum of difficulty requiring everyone just make sure the letters are all in place, in the right order and check against a basic English dictionary.

Holiday Snaps: Spanish flight of business

Haunts of times past

Walking up the arterial road Avenida de Tirajana is sometimes a spectacle, my hotel sits at the very bottom of the avenue at a roundabout that splays out into a T-junction which is part of Avenida de Gran Canaria; a ring-road that is probably the longest named street on the island.

Anytime I have missed breakfast which ends at 10:30AM I have walked up to Moby’s Restaurant where a Barbara Windsor-like matron serves with all concern and friendliness a good English breakfast with all the trappings apart from the dreadful black pudding.

Economic tombstones

In the last few days, I had the feeling the business was no more, so today, I walked up to satisfy my curiosity and yes, the restaurant space was up for rent, possibly a casualty of the Spanish flight of business confidence.

A few yards, I am thinking English today; yards before the restaurant, just before my hotel found the wisdom of having wireless access as a free service in the lobby, there was Café Punto, an internet café run by a gay French couple with full unrestricted access, delicious Spanish coffees and good chatter.

Again, the dreams of settling in the sunny climes of Gran Canaria seem to have been dashed by the economic downturn – the shop is up for rent too. Dino's little patio Tapas bar is still running though.

The tsunamis of misfortune

Whilst sometimes the business model might be responsible for the failure of many businesses, one sometimes has to take account of circumstances where the entrepreneurs might have done everything right but were overrun by extenuating circumstances well beyond their control.

Many other restaurants and services had become ghosts of what they had once been, premises gutted and For Rent signs hanging on the doors or glass panes that would not be like rich pickings for anyone who thinks there is an advantage to be had.

The desperate situation leaves me scared of entering any shop to purchase a camera, having once branded the traders carteristas (pick-pockets) in the good times, there is no telling how worse the experience might have become.

With sloppy Brits forgive the Spanish

As I got to the Yumbo Centre, I saw a big sign for The British Center and I made for the place to ascertain its authenticity. Well, it could not have been authentic by any stretch of the imagination if Centre were spelt in the American variant of English.

Then, it was not where it was supposed to be, it just was not there, maybe no one could pay to bring the big sign down. Whereas I had eaten pork pies in my mind long before I got there, a mirage it was like an oasis to the thirsty in the desert.

Fund Grube, the pseudo-luxury shopping chain of Gran Canaria could be forgiven for having signs reading, “We are on sale” when what I think they meant “We have a sale on”. If the Brits could not get their signs right I suppose you can forgive the Spanish for getting their contexts wrong.

Gosh! I'm in London again

London incognito

My sojourn to London this time is somewhat impromptu and unannounced; even though one had opportunity to announce long before time, spontaneity depending on scheduling and time allowing might just bring me in contact to the realists of my blog world.

Air travel never ceases to amaze, I have been through a time of flying as a kid, getting irrationally scared of air travel to the extent that I forsook my plane at the air for a 7-hour train journey to a point where I can better manage my anxiety, it does not bother me that much anymore.

I'm like a bird

However, when I think of the daring, genius and tenacity that made men put big metal vehicles in the air, take advantage of the air to traverse places and use the same to stop the aircraft, I am just too impressed for words.

Generally, I belong to the jet engine generation; there is no way you will get me to get in a turbo-prop even if I had to escape the savages of King Solomon's Mines, well, it might get me thinking.

But one thing I have noticed about Amsterdam Schiphol Airport is whilst it can be friendly to the elderly, handicapped or parents with young children, in that they can order a concourse vehicle to cart them around the airport, those with canes find that the elevators do not go to the connecting floors and we are not called forward to board flights first.

John Steed, I'm not.

I once had one long cane with a ivory ball for the handle, then acquired another which is quite versatile because I can take it apart - 4 bits that go into the customs check system - mercifully and thankfully, I do not have to take off my shoes.

It makes the cane easy to pack into my bag. So, when we landed at Heathrow and taxied around the runways till we all thought we were lost for 15 minutes we came to a standstill, when usually the impatient cannot wait for the seat-belt sign to go off before they open overhead bins and spill the contents on the sitting party.

I finally got my bag, took out the 4 pieces of cane and proceeded to put them together when another passenger surmised, good weapon - I had to remonstrate vehemently, it is my cane, nobody carries weapons onto planes and please do not get me into deep serious trouble.

Some people have been watching too much monochrome Avengers, that is not helped that I also wear a hat, this time, not my bowler hat, though.

Sign for me properly

Then, the beauty of reading English properly written - Please have your passports ready for inspection as opposed to the literal translation in Schiphol which reads Please keep your passport ready - it narks me off when these foreigners cannot avail themselves of native speakers such that I do not have to be welcomed in London.

I got to my hotel which is beside the British Library, one should walk in and have a look, and much has been said about the architecture and more.

Stranger in my room

Just as I settled in my room, I had a shower, dried off and wist not that I was unclothed because I was covered with glory when my door opened.

Stranger: Oh!

Moi: What are you doing in my room?

Stranger: Reception, gave me this room.

Moi: Well as you can see, it is not your room, it is mine, this is outrageous.

Stranger tries to divert my vitriol to blame the reception for a sloppy job, I am having none of it.

Moi: Please close the door now; make sure you are not sent back here.

Stranger, scolded and angry walks away closing the door rather than slamming it, well, that would have been the end of him as he would have been defenestrated.

Why did I go for the stranger, well, I wanted to make sure he doubly expressed his displeasure at the reception, such that they do not mess it up again?

20 minutes later, my television goes off and a name; not mine appears on the screen, my second call to reception would not hear of the excuses that the system is down, I am having none of this nonsense in a 4-star hotel, it just does no augur well for my custom and their brand.

When I show my face at reception, well, maybe, it is best to leave out the tip when checking out.

What would we do without computer systems, what makes us thorough and meticulous has been lost that excuses suffice for unforgivable simple mistakes - not good, not good at all.

To London to see the Queen

Hand me the lipstick – Now!

Indeed, my blog has been deafeningly silent, I have been in London and this is my last day before I leave for Amsterdam en route Brussels – by train.

Well, now, they have really banned cosmetic through Heathrow, many who got away with rouge and mascara would have to consider something permanent – Botox, face lift, whatever keeps that look young, sexy and less affected by the strain of negotiating airport security.

The war on terror is now terrifyingly real amongst us and the terrorists only have to think up the next ploy to get us into a tizzy. Now, 11 of the suspects have been charged, it is shame that their attack being so imminent, the evidence is still far from being gathered enough to expect a trial for another 12 to 18 months.

Six nights of 60 hours and still not done

My Oyster card has been screaming at me for the last 2 days that it is about to expire; fine, but really, I do not intend to spend another day in London, I have spent 6 nights and if I may say, tourists do end up spending 6 nights in London.

However, coming from a continental European country where standard of living is higher and the cost of living is considerably lower, I do wonder how they get people to pay the prices I see about the place – it is atrocious to say the least – even with the doubling of prices after the introduction of the Euro, we have a cheaper existence than what Londoners have to put up with.

My 6 night sojourn has been an eye-opener if not experience, I only informed 8 people I was visiting and managed to meet just 6, even in those cases I was pressed for time and opportunity – if I had informed a handful more I would have been stressed beyond the limit in trying to satisfy the needs of meeting, visiting, seeing and staying.

This is only with 6 years away from London, imagine 16 years away from Nigeria and that would be a logistic nightmare requiring an updated version of management software from NASA expeditions – I am definitely not yet looking forward to that prospect.

Left driving for the right side

Many times I get into the argument about whether driving on the left is right or driving on the right in Europe is wrong or less popular around the world.

A good few countries drive on the left, including India, Australia, Canada and Indonesia. Some have switched sides as you will see from the link.

Imagine my consternation to the subconscious predilection to the right-side driving ideal when I find that I am on the wrong side of the road waiting for a bus or I notice that the driver is to my right when I get into a car.

Worse still, sitting in front, my eyes and head are in conflict as I expect to see cars going in one direction and they are not, this especially at turnings.

Then we got on the bus and I can claim priority seating on public transport because I do use a cane; I must note that London is a bit more tolerant compared to our Amsterdam when people with assisted mobility embark.

Do sit in my seat

Twice, at least, I was offered a seat on the tube, but when we got on a bus, a “lady” with more plastic bags than a Sainsbury’s counter got on and simply barked my friend off his seat beside me demanding to sit down.

At first we thought he had occupied reserved seats, but that was not the case, as the woman murmured without respite letting ladies have seats on buses, but she was no lady, not even if I stretched my imagination.

When we got to the last stop, she got off and started rummaging through the rubbish bins – that was our brush with the Mental Health – Care in the Community programme – if the medication does help bring good manners to the fore, she must have skipped her required dosage, where I could have had compassion, I had anger, disdain and disgust – I am only human.

Some have even suffered worse fates from those encounters, we only suffered a rude situation, and we can live with that.

Exciting Kitchen rage

On the Friday, we went up to a Nigerian Restaurant on Kinsland Road near Dalston in East London and we had the pepper soup and suya for entrées then as they had no okra soup we plumbed for the spinach and red stew.

This was the second time I felt like asking for an apron to invade the kitchen and teach a few ideas about cooking Nigerian stew – not only was it greasy and unpalatable, it completely put us off we could hardly try the beef in the stew.

The waitress then suggested a doggie-bag and in an unguarded response I rebuffed with the comment that my dogs would refuse the meal. Well, that was the truth, only it was not expressed in the finesse of tone, context and delivery.

I apologised, but I do hope that the message was clear that if another visit to that place records a failing of the sort we have once endured; my review of the place would be less appreciative than this one.

A changing London

All the area around London Bridge has changed considerably in 6 years from the City Hall and interesting performances in the bowl beside the building and those anti-skateboard knobs on the concrete platforms all down to Tate Modern, the Millennium Bridge and the London Eye.

I cried off the London Eye, the queues were as long as burger-gluttons lining up for a fat expensive burger at Hard Rock cafe or was it Planet Hollywood. The VIP express – jump-the-queue tickets were not only twice as expensive, the queue did not seem to be moving any faster either.

The view from the London Eye is not exactly a view to die for, having looked from the 7^th floor of Tate Modern did not show an amazing skyline rivaling New York, I can safely give that a miss for now.

London again?

Would it be another 6 years before I return? Probably … I cannot say I am that enamoured about London per se.

However, catching up with friends and family and seeing how so grown up those little kids have become is testament to the fact that time does fly and the accumulation of passing time adds up to what makes everyone exclaim – Has it really been that long ago since you were here? Well, yes, it has.

Is this London?

I’m leaving on the slow train

With the new developments in the mind games that have been the real war on terror, travelling by air to London is completely out of the question. If you have to arrive at the airport a day before you depart and might only be able to have your hair shirt as hand luggage, why bother?

The other alternatives are road, sea and train – I took the latter which involves travel through Brussels and then the Eurostar from Brussels to London, at least you can carry whatever you want before some nut thinks that is another little scare in the making.

All signs lead nowhere

So, I arrived in London this afternoon and missed something I usually see in stations in Berlin and Paris, good signs for locations above ground and local maps on advertisement type billboards. Nothing of the sort, I need to get my A-to-Z out to find my bearings, hopefully, the street names appear where they should.

Before I surfaced, I had to get a London Underground travelcard (it used to be mainly paper-based with a magnetic strip – shows how long I’ve been away from London), it is now known as the Oyster card – a nondescript credit card sized plastic thingy that does not show any obvious sign that it is a 7-day travelcard for all zones.

Then to the hotel where I should had a deal that extended my entire stay, but with two days left, the cost is too outrageous to contemplate – this city is not paved in gold but they pay diamond prices for things that glitter like dark wood.

The spectre of crimes recent

So, I had a rather long walk to one of my old haunts and could not help but notice two crime scene notices seeking information for events that happened in the last few weeks. One victim was shot and another looked like a racial attack by a mob, all within a 5-minute stroll. Makes me weary of what is happening in London.

Then, somehow I ended up at Elephant and Castle; I remember my cousin once saying important landmarks in London are named after places in the biggest city in Nigeria – Ibadan. He gave a few examples like – Ìtá aperin (translates as the Elephant Square or Elephant and castle in this case), then Eléyelé (translates as the pigeon’s keeper or Trafalgar Square, if you like).

The maze of castle with no elephants

Anyway, I had to get a bus to my hotel, the signs indicated I need to look for bus stop C which was on the other end of that area, I got there and found that the maps did not correlate with the realities I could see, having traversed tunnels till my orientation is as bad as compass doing 10 revolutions per second, I threw up my hands in absolute despair and incredulity that anyone could make sense of those location maps.

A lady who seemed to know what my frustration was and the nonsense that masquerades as help for tourists and non-locals alike then gave directions which had me walking off in another direction, then finally I found the stop, only to see the that location map at the stop should have been the same all through.

It is strange because the map of the London Underground is considered a work of art, a masterpiece of engineering drawing and it is the standard by which other city maps are drawn; that these ideas have not converted to locations maps for bus stops is unfortunate.

London after six years of absence – not too sure – I give my views in a week.

A backside spread over six seats

Must get on first

Being a commuter, one is sometimes amused by the attitudes one encounters when it comes to public transport.

The first thing that hits you especially if you are English is the fact that the Dutch do not queue, probably, some sort of divine crowd control ensures that everyone gets on without a fuss.

The level of individuality to the exclusion of others is amazing in the fact that people hardly ever take notice of others when they walk up and bunch up at the entry points to vehicles and carriages.

Any space between a commuter and the entrance can so easily be taken up by someone who almost aggressive saunters by and inserts themselves in that gap.

This then creates another little problem; when a train arrives, it would seemingly be sensible to allow passengers to disembark before trying to get on.

However, because of the bunching up at the entry points, passengers literally have to fight their way off the train and the waiting crowd is struggling to gain the advantage of getting on first.

Walking with a cane then provides an easy way of getting off through the inadvertent but sudden collision of people with the cane; space does materialize for one to disembark with ones dignity intact. Bliss!

Chivalry in Dutch is indifference

Having gotten on any means of transport, it is interesting to see how 2-seater arrangements are fully occupied by one person without consideration of others. This happens on the trains, in the buses, on the trams and the metro transport services.

At one time the traffic police used to pull people off the metro who seemed to occupy more than their fair share of the seats; the legality of which one is a bit suspect of.

The most nuisances are either bags or feet on unoccupied spaces which only get offered after an aggressive challenge rather than a friendly entreaty.

Somehow, the occupants have a way of being complete oblivious the fact that the vehicle is filling up or some elderly or incapacitated person, if not heavily pregnant woman might need the seat.

Chivalry is probably not a Dutch word; well really, it seems to be utterly archaic to all languages nowadays.

You will be a mug to give up your seat for a lady; if one of the many of the female sex on the bus dares to look more like a lady than anything else. I apologise, contemporary and trendy fashion does not help many appear like ladies anymore.

So much flesh exposed in an unseemly need to be attractive but without the commensurate work to display the attractive.

In some cases, there is some much blubber exposed; the Michelin man of the Michelin [1] tyre adverts would look like a skinny stick insect.

Occupy for myself only

However, the best example of space abuse is found on the trains. The first class sections of the certain trains have compartments of 6-seats with a door. The rush to get on at that section is to be the first to occupy the compartment.

The first to occupy the compartment immediately closes the door and places as many of their effects on the seats such that it appears full of, well, one person.

In one instance, it was a like an obstacle course in a military camp to get one seat in the compartment because, the bag, computer carrying case, over-coat, jacket and files had taken up every space.

One would just be immediately discouraged from trying to gain entry, but when other places are filled up in the limited 1^st Class common area, then those compartments come into contention regardless of the occupant.

At least, a greeting gets exchanged at entry and nothing more, which is a lot different from International train travel where usually other foreigners are more engaging and chatty.

Speaking up for silence

Some 1^st Class common areas have a finger to the lips sign indicating a Silent area [2] and a red stroke through a mobile phone sign, signifying what it means. No mobile phones, no matter how quietly you want to talk.

Any decent mobile phone has a silent facility with the option to vibrate when called. Rarely, does that get activated. We can live with that.

However, one evening, they all got on and before the train doors closed, 4 people were on their mobile phones.

“Excuse me please, we cannot have all of you on the phone, this is a no mobile zone”, I remonstrated.

Peace!

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