Sunday, September 21, 2003
AH, PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION
Saturday evening, we met four friends -- one married couple and one set of sisters (the sisters are twenty something and thirty something British Sikh women, who would do any man -- Sikh or not -- proud; they look like film stars and have fantastic personalities) -- for dinner at the Blue Elephant (where, we were told, the Queen of Thailand had dined recently) near the Fulham Broadway underground station.
Oh, if only going there and coming home were as pleasant as the dinner itself.
Our mini-odyssey started at around 4:30 PM on the London Underground's Piccadilly line.
What did not help matters was that there had been a fire on a train at Green Park. So, service was delayed badly, both eastbound and westbound, then was suspended entirely in a couple of sections, then resumed -- all with the space of about an hour or so.
It took us until 6 PM to get to South Kensington station, where we had to change to the District Line. We finally made it to the restaurant, 2 hours after we left home.
2 flippin' hours! We could have flown to Ireland in that time.
Of course, we were also blessed during our journey by the presence of a wide variety of nutcases.
Speaking of Ireland. Inbound, travelling companions included a drunk, can of Becks (I believe) still in hand. This genius loudly and about as foul-mouthed as you could imagine -- while standing next to a mother holding a small child -- slurringly informed another drunk that Northern Ireland belonged to the Irish Republic because it is all on one island. (There's an argument no one's thought of.)
The trains we were on -- we had to get off and reboard three different ones -- had rubbish all over the place. There were empty Coke cans, beer cans, Burger King wrappers, newspapers. The list goes on. (And graffiti, which the New York subway had managed to get under control, is increasingly taking over the Underground. Not on the trains so much -- although depending on the line, it is appearing on the trains -- but mostly on station walls. On the trains themselves the "artists" increasingly scratch their "tags" into the windows.)
On the return home, about 10 PM, on the District Line, our carriage was introduced to another drunk, who lectured us insistently about how Chelsea is the greatest football team ever -- better than "f --ing" Man U. (It ain't as deep as the problems of Northern Ireland. But the best football team is obviously a "vital" issue for some.)
Back on the Piccadilly line, the delays had still not been cleared entirely. Finally boarding at Earl's Court, we managed to find ourselves standing next to a "family" of some sort. They proceeded to rip apart newspapers, drop cans of whatever, and one "man" at one point even partly dropped his trousers, to display his upper rear to a child in the family. Next to them, a couple were making out to the point that, well. . .
Stopped at one station for what seemed a small eternity, we were all greeted by a reasonably well-dressed man who announced to the carriage that he needed money to eat. If one believed that, well, one will believe just about anything.
Again, there was garbage everywhere.
And we paid £10.50 (about $15) for two travel cards, which granted us the privilege of "travelling" on this delightful form of transport.
I travel on the Underground relatively regularly, but usually during commuting hours. At such times things are relatively sane.
But on the weekends, and in the evenings, the nuts and slugs and dregs always come out in droves.
And we are forever lectured to by the high priests of "anti-congestion" about the need to take public transportation.
The problems many have with taking public transportation isn't the mode of transportation itself. What most people have major issues with -- and fear -- are the huge numbers of morons, drunks, jerks, and general imbeciles permitted to do and act virtually any way they damn well please.
What parents with even a half-a-brain between them would subject their child to this if they could avoid it? What elderly gentleman or woman wants to have his/her sensibilities -- or worse -- assaulted in these manners? What reasonable person wants to endure such appalling nonsense and rude behavior?
And this was mostly on the Piccadilly line, which is usually also full of tourists.
London Underground should be utterly embarrassed.
Absolutely disgraceful. ¶ by Robert, Sunday, September 21, 2003
Saturday evening, we met four friends -- one married couple and one set of sisters (the sisters are twenty something and thirty something British Sikh women, who would do any man -- Sikh or not -- proud; they look like film stars and have fantastic personalities) -- for dinner at the Blue Elephant (where, we were told, the Queen of Thailand had dined recently) near the Fulham Broadway underground station.
Oh, if only going there and coming home were as pleasant as the dinner itself.
Our mini-odyssey started at around 4:30 PM on the London Underground's Piccadilly line.
What did not help matters was that there had been a fire on a train at Green Park. So, service was delayed badly, both eastbound and westbound, then was suspended entirely in a couple of sections, then resumed -- all with the space of about an hour or so.
It took us until 6 PM to get to South Kensington station, where we had to change to the District Line. We finally made it to the restaurant, 2 hours after we left home.
2 flippin' hours! We could have flown to Ireland in that time.
Of course, we were also blessed during our journey by the presence of a wide variety of nutcases.
Speaking of Ireland. Inbound, travelling companions included a drunk, can of Becks (I believe) still in hand. This genius loudly and about as foul-mouthed as you could imagine -- while standing next to a mother holding a small child -- slurringly informed another drunk that Northern Ireland belonged to the Irish Republic because it is all on one island. (There's an argument no one's thought of.)
The trains we were on -- we had to get off and reboard three different ones -- had rubbish all over the place. There were empty Coke cans, beer cans, Burger King wrappers, newspapers. The list goes on. (And graffiti, which the New York subway had managed to get under control, is increasingly taking over the Underground. Not on the trains so much -- although depending on the line, it is appearing on the trains -- but mostly on station walls. On the trains themselves the "artists" increasingly scratch their "tags" into the windows.)
On the return home, about 10 PM, on the District Line, our carriage was introduced to another drunk, who lectured us insistently about how Chelsea is the greatest football team ever -- better than "f --ing" Man U. (It ain't as deep as the problems of Northern Ireland. But the best football team is obviously a "vital" issue for some.)
Back on the Piccadilly line, the delays had still not been cleared entirely. Finally boarding at Earl's Court, we managed to find ourselves standing next to a "family" of some sort. They proceeded to rip apart newspapers, drop cans of whatever, and one "man" at one point even partly dropped his trousers, to display his upper rear to a child in the family. Next to them, a couple were making out to the point that, well. . .
Stopped at one station for what seemed a small eternity, we were all greeted by a reasonably well-dressed man who announced to the carriage that he needed money to eat. If one believed that, well, one will believe just about anything.
Again, there was garbage everywhere.
And we paid £10.50 (about $15) for two travel cards, which granted us the privilege of "travelling" on this delightful form of transport.
I travel on the Underground relatively regularly, but usually during commuting hours. At such times things are relatively sane.
But on the weekends, and in the evenings, the nuts and slugs and dregs always come out in droves.
And we are forever lectured to by the high priests of "anti-congestion" about the need to take public transportation.
The problems many have with taking public transportation isn't the mode of transportation itself. What most people have major issues with -- and fear -- are the huge numbers of morons, drunks, jerks, and general imbeciles permitted to do and act virtually any way they damn well please.
What parents with even a half-a-brain between them would subject their child to this if they could avoid it? What elderly gentleman or woman wants to have his/her sensibilities -- or worse -- assaulted in these manners? What reasonable person wants to endure such appalling nonsense and rude behavior?
And this was mostly on the Piccadilly line, which is usually also full of tourists.
London Underground should be utterly embarrassed.
Absolutely disgraceful. ¶ by Robert, Sunday, September 21, 2003
