Tales from the tube train #133 Its hats and scarfs on the Bakerloo line catwalk carriage. Mostly fleece, a few pseudo-ethnic cotton design. Not from fair trade but probably a sweatshop in Bangladesh or the backstreets of Kilburn. No football scarfs? In true British style on this crisp and frosty morning we content ourselves with the words,could be worse, we could be in (say) New York The big apple covered by snow, 6ft thick, the big meringue. Theres some dudes photo driving his car with three foot of snow neatly squared upon his roof, great until he hits the brakes. The cold shrinks the brain, and I remind myself I did the self same thing. A car buried in snow I decided to drive up the road and hit the brakes delighting at the catapulting launch of Jack frosts dandruff. It wasnt actually buried. 6 inches more like. For us men that means 9 inches and for us men who are in the building trade we round that up to a comfortable 10 inches. So I drive up the road hitting 40mph and now in my Mr Hyde alter ego pretend I am Marty in a Delorean. The speedo hits the threshold of 40mph. I hit the brakes. 26 gigawatts of power. With a shrunken brain it never occurred to me that simple logic dictates if theres snow, its cold, if its cold theres ice. I careered around the road. A wide eyed white knuckle Wurlitzer ride. The snow did shift. Over the window it fell, blind. Still on a Disneyland tea cup ride for a split second I shouted bollocks and worried that neighbours would see my shit driving. I came to a stop courtesy of a Fiat Punto minding its own business. Of course my head was still spinning and traveling at a decelerated 40mph when the car stopped instantly. --- Printed cotton and faux silk scarfs seem to be the vogue on the jubilee line. --- Its cold, my brain! and as my nutty nan said, dont think, you wont like what you hear
Posted on: Thu, 20 Nov 2014 07:25:11 +0000
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