Sorry, it's back to my nemesis, Transport for London.
I can't remember when I first obtained my Oyster card but, for several years I've had zonal travel cards loaded on it allowing me the freedom of buses, trains, underground and trams in five TfL zones. Most recently, working in Euston, my route to work involved bus, train and underground, so it was natural that I'd go for one ticket to cover all.
Then two weeks ago, my office moved. Only a short distance, but enough either to add a ten minute walk to my 1 hour 15 minutes travel, or a change on the underground to a second line. So I considered my options.
If I walk to my nearest station (13 minutes brisk walk), I have four slow trains an hour into London (the station I currently use has fast trains every three to five minutes, which is why I take the bus into that station). My new office is 23 minutes brisk walk from Charing Cross. So I could walk - train - walk, add only five to ten minutes each way more than my "fast" journey, get exercise and save money by buying a point-to-point ticket rather than a zonal.
So I decided that's what I'm going to do.
Two days before my old Oyster travelcard was due to expire I stopped at the ticket office and asked to but a monthly ticket to Charing Cross starting in two days' time. I was asked for my photocard.
I don't have a photocard; I don't need one with an Oyster.
But I'm now travelling on Southern Railways, and they haven't got Oyster yet.
To be permitted to buy my next month's ticket, I have to get my photograph taken, get a photocard and then I'm issued with a paper ticket.
Talk about a retrograde step!
Friday, 30 October 2009
Sunday, 11 October 2009
Post-script to Luc's ramblings
I posted Luc's tale of his dealings with Snowball yesterday.
Before I went to bed last night, both cats were insistent so I let them out into the night and made sure that Luc was aware they were both out. I'm pretty sure he would have tried to get them in before he came up to bed later on.
This morning, I woke unaided by cat at 8.15. Realistically, this can mean only one thing.
I got dressed quickly, went downstairs, put food down for both cats (experience has shown that an upset cat is even less likely to want to wait while you put food down than a normal cat - and I use the word "normal" in its widest sense), then went down to the main door to call them both in.
Dyson was waiting patiently at the bottom of the steps - but then he often wants to spend the night out and knows that he'll be let in when I'm ready. Snowball was nowhere to be seen.
I called. Dyson trotted up the steps and in and, after a few seconds, Snowball appeared some way along the footpath and ambled in - this was one cat who was going to do this at HER pace, not mine. As she finally came in she stopped, turned, looked up at me, and gave the loudest, most dissatisfied "MOW-OW-OW" that I have heard in the six-plus years we have had her.
Both came in and ate their food, and I started up the computer and got going on a few things. Dyson stayed around to be fussed for a few minutes while Snowball made her way upstairs.
Five minutes later, Snowball was back, as I expected. Demanding more food, as I expected. So I gave her the little bit I had held back for just this situation, as she expected. Snowball ate, then wandered off under the desk.
Half a minute later there was a loud POP and everything went black.
Snowball had stepped on the power switch for the computer.
She came out from under the desk, looked up at me in silence, then headed back upstairs. Her revenge for being left out all night was complete.
Before I went to bed last night, both cats were insistent so I let them out into the night and made sure that Luc was aware they were both out. I'm pretty sure he would have tried to get them in before he came up to bed later on.
This morning, I woke unaided by cat at 8.15. Realistically, this can mean only one thing.
I got dressed quickly, went downstairs, put food down for both cats (experience has shown that an upset cat is even less likely to want to wait while you put food down than a normal cat - and I use the word "normal" in its widest sense), then went down to the main door to call them both in.
Dyson was waiting patiently at the bottom of the steps - but then he often wants to spend the night out and knows that he'll be let in when I'm ready. Snowball was nowhere to be seen.
I called. Dyson trotted up the steps and in and, after a few seconds, Snowball appeared some way along the footpath and ambled in - this was one cat who was going to do this at HER pace, not mine. As she finally came in she stopped, turned, looked up at me, and gave the loudest, most dissatisfied "MOW-OW-OW" that I have heard in the six-plus years we have had her.
Both came in and ate their food, and I started up the computer and got going on a few things. Dyson stayed around to be fussed for a few minutes while Snowball made her way upstairs.
Five minutes later, Snowball was back, as I expected. Demanding more food, as I expected. So I gave her the little bit I had held back for just this situation, as she expected. Snowball ate, then wandered off under the desk.
Half a minute later there was a loud POP and everything went black.
Snowball had stepped on the power switch for the computer.
She came out from under the desk, looked up at me in silence, then headed back upstairs. Her revenge for being left out all night was complete.
Saturday, 10 October 2009
Luc's night-time ramblings (with cat)
I switched on the computer to find this email from my partner.
**********************************************************
Cats, no respecters of late nights.
It is one a.m. and I’m in for a very late night. We have been out (three of us) at a friend's house for a birthday meal and I am feeling very rough (and no, I haven’t had a drop to drink – honestly!). I suppose your friends going mad with the Indian takeaway menu will do that if you try to eat it all in one sitting.
For the last hour I have been pestered by both cats to go out, as only cats can pester and, as the weather is lousy, I have held fast and not given in. Besides, Snowball hates bad weather and it would be my fault if she went out in it. Finally reaching the end of my tether I throw on my overly hot jumper to cover me and open the flat's door. Both cats run out, so I wander down to the main door to show them that they really don’t want to go out in this. That’s my second mistake. The door opens a fraction and both cats are lost to the night. Bother. Now I’ll have to remember to go get Snowball in an hour or I’ll have some serious grovelling to do. (The male cat, being black and larger, won’t be seen again until breakfast time – as usual).
It is now 4.30 a.m. and I have to go to bed, however, I feel as I must sleep, as the two girls are asleep and must be up at 6 I will try very hard not to disturb them. I switch off the computer and rise carefully out of the chair. Then it hits me, the cats are still out. I open the flat door and stagger tiredly down the stairs to the main door. If I’m lucky there will be no sign of the cat, this means she’s bedded down on a car and will be grateful to be allowed back in.
Oh dear. There is a cat hunkered down in a corner of the platform outside the door. A white cat. This means I am in TROUBLE as she has decided to wait however long is needed for the door to be opened. This always means that whoever opens the door is automatically to blame for however cold or wet she may be despite the huge sheltered car park with the myriad of ultra comfortable beds (my sidecar providing at least three) from which to choose.
She sees me approach the door, despite never looking my way. She gets up and paws at the door mowing silently at me. This is not a good sign. She’s been out here way longer than she’s happy about and somehow I’m going to pay.
She quietly comes in and, slightly slower than usual, runs up the stairs to the flat door. Here I try and show her how to open the door. She gets the idea quickly that she needs to stand on her back legs and push the door open with her front paws. She enters tail up and proceeds to her food dish. I walk part way up the stairs and gesture to her that it’s bed time not food time – she does seem to understand basic hand gestures, she does not look like following.
I make it past the one bedroom, through the other and through the adjoining wardrobes into the bathroom without making a sound (not bad for 6’3" in pitch black) and turn on the light above the vanity unit. I look back between the wardrobes to the bedroom to see the cat has followed me as she is wont to do, but she whirls round to head out when she sees I’ve spotted her.
Then she decides it is time for me to pay for leaving her out.
She has spun back around and leapt on something I can’t even see on the lower door rail. It’s neatly hooked with one paw and suddenly the cat is hurtling towards me, paws flying in all directions, tail streaming, waving out behind her and whatever she’s jumped on being battered from paw to paw like a professional footballer dribbling the winning goal. Only cats, whatever they may think aren’t quite that good and every other shot she misses. She’s not worried though as it simply bounces off the bottom wooden rail of the wardrobe. Whatever she’s hitting would appear to be quite heavy and rather solid judging solely by the sheer noise it makes slamming in to the wood at quite high speed; the combination of charging cat ripping at the carpet and ricocheting object really is quite impressive in the echoing confines of the walk-through wardrobes, or it would be at any sane time of the day. For now all I can do is stand there, wazzing into the porcelain, holding my breath, and wait for the cat and missile to get to me. It does. Missile goes behind the loo and cat goes behind me. Good, no chance of cat's tail getting wet – yes, been there done that).
Only the cat doesn’t see why her fun should end there, and really she’s quite dextrous with her paws so why should it?? Missile located, she reaches out with a paw and successfully hooks it. An experimental pat shows it’s still good for play so it gets wacked. And comes to rest on my bare foot (I’m still wazzing). As the cat leaps after it I have to speak. I cannot move. She has broken my silence. Speech is not required, I move my foot one way and the cat explodes the other, ripping along the corridor and round the corner into the hall and only she knows where from there. I bend down and look at her toy. It’s a boiled sweet, mainly square about an inch across, unwrapped and now (if it ever wasn’t) covered in fur so it’s fairly mouse-like I suppose, and quite heavy for its size. And solid. Oh yes, defiantly solid. Where it came from I have no idea; we haven’t had any sweets for a while and nothing, I am sure, shaped like this.
There are sounds of people moving from both bedrooms so it looks like mission successful for the cat, everyone has now been disturbed. But nothing is ever mentioned about it, maybe no-one was disturbed enough to register what happened that night?
No Just when the memory of that dreadful cat’s revenge were fading I get asked “What on earth was Snowball charging around after the other night? I was having a great dream and then…….”
Cats. Remember folks, next time one wants to go out at 1a.m. into the dark night, no matter what happens, no matter what it costs,
JUST SAY NO
It'll be worth it in the long run.
**********************************************************
Cats, no respecters of late nights.
It is one a.m. and I’m in for a very late night. We have been out (three of us) at a friend's house for a birthday meal and I am feeling very rough (and no, I haven’t had a drop to drink – honestly!). I suppose your friends going mad with the Indian takeaway menu will do that if you try to eat it all in one sitting.
For the last hour I have been pestered by both cats to go out, as only cats can pester and, as the weather is lousy, I have held fast and not given in. Besides, Snowball hates bad weather and it would be my fault if she went out in it. Finally reaching the end of my tether I throw on my overly hot jumper to cover me and open the flat's door. Both cats run out, so I wander down to the main door to show them that they really don’t want to go out in this. That’s my second mistake. The door opens a fraction and both cats are lost to the night. Bother. Now I’ll have to remember to go get Snowball in an hour or I’ll have some serious grovelling to do. (The male cat, being black and larger, won’t be seen again until breakfast time – as usual).
It is now 4.30 a.m. and I have to go to bed, however, I feel as I must sleep, as the two girls are asleep and must be up at 6 I will try very hard not to disturb them. I switch off the computer and rise carefully out of the chair. Then it hits me, the cats are still out. I open the flat door and stagger tiredly down the stairs to the main door. If I’m lucky there will be no sign of the cat, this means she’s bedded down on a car and will be grateful to be allowed back in.
Oh dear. There is a cat hunkered down in a corner of the platform outside the door. A white cat. This means I am in TROUBLE as she has decided to wait however long is needed for the door to be opened. This always means that whoever opens the door is automatically to blame for however cold or wet she may be despite the huge sheltered car park with the myriad of ultra comfortable beds (my sidecar providing at least three) from which to choose.
She sees me approach the door, despite never looking my way. She gets up and paws at the door mowing silently at me. This is not a good sign. She’s been out here way longer than she’s happy about and somehow I’m going to pay.
She quietly comes in and, slightly slower than usual, runs up the stairs to the flat door. Here I try and show her how to open the door. She gets the idea quickly that she needs to stand on her back legs and push the door open with her front paws. She enters tail up and proceeds to her food dish. I walk part way up the stairs and gesture to her that it’s bed time not food time – she does seem to understand basic hand gestures, she does not look like following.
I make it past the one bedroom, through the other and through the adjoining wardrobes into the bathroom without making a sound (not bad for 6’3" in pitch black) and turn on the light above the vanity unit. I look back between the wardrobes to the bedroom to see the cat has followed me as she is wont to do, but she whirls round to head out when she sees I’ve spotted her.
Then she decides it is time for me to pay for leaving her out.
She has spun back around and leapt on something I can’t even see on the lower door rail. It’s neatly hooked with one paw and suddenly the cat is hurtling towards me, paws flying in all directions, tail streaming, waving out behind her and whatever she’s jumped on being battered from paw to paw like a professional footballer dribbling the winning goal. Only cats, whatever they may think aren’t quite that good and every other shot she misses. She’s not worried though as it simply bounces off the bottom wooden rail of the wardrobe. Whatever she’s hitting would appear to be quite heavy and rather solid judging solely by the sheer noise it makes slamming in to the wood at quite high speed; the combination of charging cat ripping at the carpet and ricocheting object really is quite impressive in the echoing confines of the walk-through wardrobes, or it would be at any sane time of the day. For now all I can do is stand there, wazzing into the porcelain, holding my breath, and wait for the cat and missile to get to me. It does. Missile goes behind the loo and cat goes behind me. Good, no chance of cat's tail getting wet – yes, been there done that).
Only the cat doesn’t see why her fun should end there, and really she’s quite dextrous with her paws so why should it?? Missile located, she reaches out with a paw and successfully hooks it. An experimental pat shows it’s still good for play so it gets wacked. And comes to rest on my bare foot (I’m still wazzing). As the cat leaps after it I have to speak. I cannot move. She has broken my silence. Speech is not required, I move my foot one way and the cat explodes the other, ripping along the corridor and round the corner into the hall and only she knows where from there. I bend down and look at her toy. It’s a boiled sweet, mainly square about an inch across, unwrapped and now (if it ever wasn’t) covered in fur so it’s fairly mouse-like I suppose, and quite heavy for its size. And solid. Oh yes, defiantly solid. Where it came from I have no idea; we haven’t had any sweets for a while and nothing, I am sure, shaped like this.
There are sounds of people moving from both bedrooms so it looks like mission successful for the cat, everyone has now been disturbed. But nothing is ever mentioned about it, maybe no-one was disturbed enough to register what happened that night?
No Just when the memory of that dreadful cat’s revenge were fading I get asked “What on earth was Snowball charging around after the other night? I was having a great dream and then…….”
Cats. Remember folks, next time one wants to go out at 1a.m. into the dark night, no matter what happens, no matter what it costs,
JUST SAY NO
It'll be worth it in the long run.
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