Under construction

Dear Blogsessed followers,

This blog will be undergoing an upgrade over the next month or so in order to prepare it for the nomination (or denomination) of most neglected blogspot of the year.

KR (Kind Regards)
Claire

And I'm back in the game...

Right peepola's...I am back on track and while I realise that I may have let a number of loyal readers down, I have to say that you can't live your lives vicariously through me. You all need to move to London to experience it for yourselves. Moral of this story: Move to London so I can count my friends on more than one hand.

Considering the fact that the last time I visited this little blooming bloglet was close to 5 months ago, I have a fair amount to fill you in on. I will do it in order of most exhilarating experiences to most mundane daily matters. Ready...

Most exhilarating experience....

Running out of money before the end of the month hence not having a cent to travel to and from work with. This is a number one problem, let me tell you why. Travelling in London is not the same as travelling in a car; you can't free wheel down hills when you're out of petrol, or syphon fuel out of innocent cars in parking lots, this is hard-core tube riding. I have many a time considered bumming the person in front of me (this involves placing my pelvic area on the person in front of Me's buttocks) and then sneaking through the gates. I might describe these as the gates of hell in fact. Yesterday, I tapped my Oyster card(Insane lingo for the card that is neither slimy nor eaten with lemon and Tabasco,which eats up my monthly money) at the gates of hell and realised that my travel card had run out and that I did not have enough money on my card to make it to work without paying a hefty fine at the end of my journey. So I thought on my feet, my tippy toes and came up with the only plan I could think of. I tapped back out so that I could buy a ticket to work.....THEN...AND THEN the gates of hell charge me the maximum amount of £6 and I hadn't even travelled anywhere yet. Blimey, really? So I decided not to let this issue slide by because that was my week's food money right there. So I said to the man who works at the gates of hell (he may as well have been the devil) "Excuse me sir, but this machine just ate my £6 and I didn't even get to travel anywhere". Satan's response "Yes, it punishes you if you tap in and out within a minute, it is punishing you for pussy footing around". Well I have never. I shouted at the little evil being....don't think they were full sentences or even English words, but I told him he was naughty and that I hoped he had a bad day.

As if that isn't bad enough, since I have been here there have been 2 very harrowing tube strikes. Now for those of you who have never been here before, let me explain something to you. The underground network here is like your arteries taking blood to and from your heart(of the city), cars are just little capillaries as are mopeds and feet. Now if you cut those arteries, people panic and then you will die or need very serious medical attention. This is exactly what happens on days like these. This is how it happens:

The week before they occur, newspapers start journalist speak of strikes and too little pay along with other jingles. A day before, the papers publish the time that the strike is due to start and the stations that will be affected. Something like 80 stations closed, 2 lines running minimal services and the buses look like cattle truck in Pakistan, ridiculous. On Wednesday night it took me 2 hours to get home from a course that I had. Normally it would take me 40 minutes from Oxford Circus to Wimbledon but not this time. Every station I went to was closed and after walking for half an hour, I found a station that was running a limited service. I got on the train and ended up in Notting Hill gate-Lovely if you're looking for a blue door-not so much if you're just blue. I had to catch a random bus from there (had no clue where I was going or even in which direction) and ended up at Shepherd's Bush station, where thank goodness, the overland runs from. I finally made it home after 2 more train changes. Traumatic. The next time you're in traffic in Cape town and have a beautiful view to admire whilst you wait, please refrain from thinking that that is the worst scenario in the world....mine trumps yours....at least you have a radio and a view.

Next story also involves the glory of public transport. This time I was on my way home from work, catching my normal bus home when this massively huge man gets on the bus. He was a perfect replica of Mr T from the A team. Next thing he starts screaming at the bus driver to close the bus doors and I was thinking to myself "you know Mr, its a bit unnecessary to be so melodramatic and more so to be shouting at a bus driver like you think you are the A team". Next thing, I look down the road and these 5 gangsters are running towards our bus, weapons drawn. "Thank you God for a lovely life.Goodbye world"......The bus driver quickly jumps to action & closes the bus doors (which are little less quick to jump to action) and he pulls off. At this point I feel slightly relieved until the little kid behind me who is looking out of the back window is shouting "Mummy, Mummy look look those boys are following us...teee heee PAUSE, Mummy, why are they following us?". At which I wanted to respond, "well little poegenpoel, they're are going to whip out their guns when they catch us and we're probably going to die....no ice-cream for you today". I held my mouth and true as Bob, we pull up to the next bus stop and the o-gang-atangs come bursting onto this bus just like the three little pigs except one has a knife, one has a bottle and the other has his belt off. They head straight for the stairs where Mr T has gone to take position in his viewing point. I took the opportunity to gap it off the bus, except seconds later the gangsters have located Mr T, who also now has a bottle in hand and they have conveniently decided to take the bottle wars outside. Now Mr Bus driver is shouting at me to get back on the bus- he reckons it'll be safer. Now I am shedding tears and trying to get my shaking legs to maneuver me back onto the bus and as I get back on I see that Mr T has made it to safety behind the glass doors, which are being stabbed at from the outside with all sorts of trinkets (knives and the like) and I find myself back in the line of fire. Thankfully Mr bus Driver sounded the alarm and called the infamous 999 (10111 - fastest armed response in the world?). We were eventually escorted to the next few stops by a policeman on a bat mobile. I am alive.

I am reasonably traumatised from reliving the said trauma's, so I will leave it at that for the moment. Tomorrow we can discuss this day-light saving nonsense.....