Commuters and a crapaud
Is there anything more British than moaning about commuting? Moaning being a great national pastime, and with millions of people commuting every day it gives us all great scope.
And the worst thing about moaning is you have to do it. For example I had to stand all the way from Brighton to London this morning, and had to get a two more trains before reaching Putney. London of course still paralysed by the tube strike in the morning. My ticket did not open the barrier at Putney, but a man behind me put his ticket in without thinking, so I could surge to freedom, as the barrier snapped behind me barring his exit. I did him a favour, however, because I gave him something extra to moan about. Then a 40 minute walk to reach the office.
The day draggy but I began to feel a bit livelier than I felt for about a week, and could think a bit straighter. A momentary diversion caused at work by about ten girls dressed as Can-can dancers arranging themselves in a circle on the lawn outside the offices to be photographed for some advertising campaign or other. Otherwise, a fairly relaxed working day.
Another leaving do, of a friend called Tasha who is from Jersey. She had the effrontery to call me a donkey once, getting in a last word between sliding tube doors after we'd seen a client. This a traditional insult from Jersey people to Guernsey people. Guernsey people, however, quite rightly will call a Jersey person a crapaud (pronounced crap-o) which means "toad" in Guernsey French. This is because there are toads on Jersey, but not on Guernsey. Incidentally Bufo bufo is the Latin name for the common toad, and if I had a favourite Latin name, this would certainly be it.
Anyway, went to the Bridge restaurant and had some drinks in the evening with Tasha and other work colleagues. Stayed rather longer than anticipated, and arrived late in Brighton where I found myself eating pizza and watching a black and white wartime British movie, bristling with stiff upper lips, well after midnight. 
Is there anything more British than moaning about commuting? Moaning being a great national pastime, and with millions of people commuting every day it gives us all great scope.
And the worst thing about moaning is you have to do it. For example I had to stand all the way from Brighton to London this morning, and had to get a two more trains before reaching Putney. London of course still paralysed by the tube strike in the morning. My ticket did not open the barrier at Putney, but a man behind me put his ticket in without thinking, so I could surge to freedom, as the barrier snapped behind me barring his exit. I did him a favour, however, because I gave him something extra to moan about. Then a 40 minute walk to reach the office.
The day draggy but I began to feel a bit livelier than I felt for about a week, and could think a bit straighter. A momentary diversion caused at work by about ten girls dressed as Can-can dancers arranging themselves in a circle on the lawn outside the offices to be photographed for some advertising campaign or other. Otherwise, a fairly relaxed working day.
Another leaving do, of a friend called Tasha who is from Jersey. She had the effrontery to call me a donkey once, getting in a last word between sliding tube doors after we'd seen a client. This a traditional insult from Jersey people to Guernsey people. Guernsey people, however, quite rightly will call a Jersey person a crapaud (pronounced crap-o) which means "toad" in Guernsey French. This is because there are toads on Jersey, but not on Guernsey. Incidentally Bufo bufo is the Latin name for the common toad, and if I had a favourite Latin name, this would certainly be it.
Anyway, went to the Bridge restaurant and had some drinks in the evening with Tasha and other work colleagues. Stayed rather longer than anticipated, and arrived late in Brighton where I found myself eating pizza and watching a black and white wartime British movie, bristling with stiff upper lips, well after midnight.
Below dancing girls on the grass. Very odd.
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