Once more, London. I spend far more time here now than I ever did when I actually lived down south. This portrait came about because of noticing the bendiness of the windows on this Central line train. A kind of Daliesque thing? A little bit, anyway.
The tour of Scotland, or at least, the eastern-central part of that country, continued with a visit to “Scotland’s Secret Bunker“, which until 1992 or thereabouts was maintained as the home-to-be of government in Scotland were that country (and presumably the rest of the UK) ever to be taken out by a couple of dozen nuclear missiles. It says a lot for the managerial mindset that a significant amount of money was spent on building and maintaining this place, with its various dormitories, a broadcasting station, two cinemas, a canteen (still in use, for visitors), state-of-the-art air conditioning and fire protection and various Monitoring and War Rooms (“Gentlemen! You can’t fight in here, this is the War Room!”). Plus a clinic, as pictured here with its touches of black humour.
That this is now open to visitors, albeit privately owned and charging a healthy price (£50 for the three of us), is some consolation but begs a natural question — where’s the current version of this? Or versions, as there were long-standing and fairly plausible rumours that another one of these sat up on Ashdown Forest in Sussex, near Crowborough where I grew up. And how much do they cost in terms of, say, nurses’ or teachers’ salaries? The place was definitely worth a visit, if only to invoke such questions in Joe’s mind.
A Friday night in London, but not for leisure purposes. Technically, I am working here tomorrow. Arrival at my place of residence tonight (a Travelodge, nothing glamourous or particularly metropolitan) was not until about 15 minutes after this was taken.
Still, there is nothing wrong with being in London — it’s a fine city and that fact certainly explains why this is the fourth-most depicted place on the blog, this is shot number 144 from London, meaning it’s appeared roughly once every 33 days, or only just less than once a month on average.
If the train from Toronto to the airport is counted, what you see here is the start of the third stage of the five that comprised my journey home: the Piccadilly Line at Heathrow Terminal 5. You don’t often see tube trains like this, and in fact all the way through to King’s Cross it seemed quiet. From there, to Leeds, then home by 11.20am; 12.5 hours from Toronto to Hebden Bridge, via London, is not bad at all.
As made by this board outside Walthamstow Central station this morning. And thanks to ‘good service’ on the tube, Grand Central trains and….. er, OK, Northern (just about) — it was blessed enough. Blessed with very fine weather, at least.
I like Metros. Bucharest’s doesn’t have the grandeur and Art Deco sensibilities of the Moscow one, being more of a 1970s functionalist design, but it’s still got these long, open halls that are a great improvement over the rabbit warren that is the London Underground. I think I’ve got this shot pretty symmetrical, except of course for the TV screens, but those aren’t my fault.
I started this blog on 26th August 2011, my 42nd birthday — hence its name. We can now demonstrate that I am 2,619 days old than Clare, who reached that same milestone today. It is right and proper therefore that for this one day she can be both the subject of, and co-contributor, to the blog: as she is, today, “Being 42”.
As subject — above, Clare on the phone to Joe, who has been whisked off to Berlin for the weekend with 25 other 15- and 16-year olds on a school trip (no, I don’t really want to think about it either). We took advantage of this opportunity to bugger off down to London for a couple of days, but this shot is taken in Manchester’s Piccadilly Tavern before we got on the train. And no, it wasn’t deliberately taken at 4.20pm either. Honestly.
And as special guest contributor to the blog — we decided that as I was always going to offer one of her today, she would offer one of me. Here’s me descending to Euston tube station in London, later in the journey… being 42 years + 2,619 days old.
Happy 42nd birthday darling xxx…
London is the fourth most-often depicted place on this blog and it is true I spend a decent amount of time there. But a good number of its appearances are when I’ve just been passing through. Today started in Brighton — it ended in the Oxfordshire countryside (of which more tomorrow one way or another). But to get between those places by public transport: London sits there, sucking you in like a black hole.
After a very good evening, the mundanity of the Tube station on a Saturday morning, first leg of the journey back home.
Being 42 