THIS DEFINITELY WAS NOT A STUNT!

The drive home was straightforward till I got to the first little village.  I tootled into the the sharp right hand bend at 30mph, or, a bit less probably.  I was happily minding my own side of the road on this bend, when a little red pretend  racer suddenly came into view at great speed, took the right hand bend far too fast and on my side of the road, forcing me to swerve up onto the kerb out of its way.

Up north in the ‘Wild Outback’, on the last 25 miles stretch,  I was comfortably tucked behind a black 4X4 type vehicle.  It was holding a steady 60mph.  A white car similar to the chunky 4X4 overtook me and moved into the space in front.  Moments after, yet another white car, a sleeker model, moved in behind the first white car.   Those two white vehicles were very fidgety, they  were in a great hurry, (to put it mildly).

The sleeker white car, which was at this point in front of  me, signalled  it was going to  move out and overtake; it zoomed  out and  off at speed, drawing level with the chunky white car.

Chunky white car driver signalled and moved out of lane just as the sleeker white car levelled with it on the offside.  Sleek white car was forced to swerve up a high sharp angled verge, (about 45-50 degrees) it looked like a  fast scary fairground ride.  Soil and dust flew everywhere.

The sides of the white cars  were close to one another as they sped on their fast forward trajectory.  As I watched this scene with absolute horror, I was aware I had one hand on my steering wheel and the other one over my nose and mouth.

Time seemed to stand still and I didn’t dare breath.  The car angled on the verge kept up its speed, as did the other one down on the road!   They remained very close.  Its speed probably kept the sleek white car relatively stable up there.

Sleek  white car managed to speed forward of the chunkier one, still  at an angle, then it turned its front wheels  down towards the nearside carriageway, placing itself in front of the black 4X4.   White chunky vehicle in its turn moved in behind sleek white car.  Next, there appeared to be a bit of ‘argy bargy’ driving  between the two white cars.

Eventually,  sleek white car drove his car into a layby. The other one followed suit.   As I passed, I saw a very determined male tensely moving towards the driver of  chunky white car.

Disaster had been close, not just for the occupants of those two cars, but for the people nearest, me and the occupants in the black 4X4 car.  If the white cars had been in reversed position, I doubt I’d be here telling this story.   I arrived home stunned and emotionally drained.

 

 

 

EXPERIENCING THE TUBE

I got to thinking about my experiences when travelling on the London Underground Tube system (metro by any other name) in the last few years.

In one month, the Central Line, was totally disrupted by people throwing themselves in front of trains. I kid you not. (That’s the orange one on the tube map that goes from east to west and vice versa). That line, sadly, seems to have more than its fair share of such episodes.

We passengers were kept informed as much as was decent and sensible. There is every attempt to stop trains partially or fully overground,if possible. People talked to one another. One guy phoned his work to explain why he would be late in for his Sunday shift at Harrods. He admitted to me he wasn’t a good timekeeper and the work response wasn’t too sympathetic. We got to talking about other routes we might use to reach our destinations when we got to a station.

At Bond Street, a member of staff told me what he knew about events. Some people’s responses when such incidents occurred, he described as diabolical; like “finish the job off and keep moving.”

On the same line, late morning, on a school day,I have seen a smart young guy, say twenty-ish, push drugs at very young kids, who were there for the purpose. One tiny kid (possibly thirteen years old), was well away. I distracted my young sprog, who was with me, by chatting to an older girl who was not buying. I often wonder what her role was. Maybe she was the ‘look out’.

On the Northern Line, the black one, that seems to go just about everywhere and anywhere except where you think it will, but essentially serves North to South, I have chatted with a senior Caribbean lawyer on holiday; some African ladies in the most glorious of costumes, off to engagements or weddings; been offered a kiss by a dyslexic for helping him on his way; and was given the opportunity to ‘read’ an early development model of an electronic book. I don’t know who the manufacturer was. Its potential was obvious.

At a busy interconnecting station I have seen a sick person on a platform, a number of people besides me, checked what help if any could be given. Everyone, was careful not to get too close, but they were genuinely concerned and let their trains go. In her conscious moments she was able to talk, saying her friend was getting assistance.

I’ve had really little kids fighting to sit on my suitcase so they can peer over their peers, rather than be lost and frightened at below knee level, or be bumped around where no seats existed for mum or aunty or whoever, to seat them on their laps. We’ve had some great chats about the ‘pictures’ on the trains, and one time, a very bright little soul was beautifully describing what he had seen above ground. His mum apologised for the nuisance.!!!!

THE ITALIAN JOB

Ambling away from the Piazza and the predominating structure of St Peter’s in Rome, I was approached by a young woman holding a big fluffy professional- looking microphone, which was attached with a long cable to an equally professional film camera. A young man was managing the technicalities of it.

First, the woman ascertained what language I spoke and apologized for her “not so good Eeengleesh”. In my not so good Italian, I assured her it wasn’t a problem.  We verbally fenced between both languages for a bit. “Pleeze,” she pleaded, “would you make an interview for us, but you must answer in Eeengleesh?”

Did I know the Pope was going to Australia? I answered truthfully, that I did not. I was then told about the Pope’s recent European visits, which I did know about, as his eminence had caused quite a stir with one of his talks when in Germany.

They were making a magazine video film for young people in the world wide Catholic community.  So far,  the film-makers had found lots of Spanish and South Americans to interview but they had difficulty finding a native English speaker.

Question 1. “Why are you visiting St Peter’s in Rome?” I talked about a nice day for it, wanting to see such an historical place and sense the atmosphere.

Question 2. “Why do you think the Pope is going to Australia?” I thought about Mohammed going to the mountain and improvised on the theme.

It might not have been the what they wanted to hear,  but I added for good measure, that this Pope’s predecessor would be a hard act to follow.

You know, the film-makers just might find some other native English speakers and cut me out of the deal. 

So I had my  few minutes of ‘notoriety’ during which hubby disappeared; he did not even take a picture or two of me to prove to posterity that I had been filmed. 

PENALTY POINTS

We have our offspring visiting for the May Day holiday weekend, what is left of it following, what should have been a travelling schedule of 9.5 hours; first by bus to the station and then by rail with a connection or two thrown in for good measure.

The last train north was previously timetabled to arrive at 21.00hrs. It could never make the target time, it was usually out by 20 -30 minutes and it’s record was about 45 minutes late. Of course, that does not take into consideration anything more serious than normal weather conditions, or situatons that you would ordinarily think a train could and should be able to cope with. Passengers have been known to get stranded when brakes had ‘iced’ up at a period when temperatures were ABOVE freezing! We waited for arrivals till after midnight for that one.

The timetables were changed last year with a 30 minutes later arrival time for the last train. Guess what – we got a phone call telling us the train was running late, they were in the back of beyond, so no clue as to how much longer we would need to wait.

We were very surprised to see from our vantage position by the station platform, that there were people in the street placing luggage in car boots and yet no train had arrived. I commented to hubbie that maybe one of the City Link buses had arrived and had disgorged its passengers. Our second major surprise was to see the familiar outline of our offspring walking towards us.

Oh yes, there had been a coach; those passengers travelling to our station were taken off the train at a junction further east and bussed to their destination, thereby enabling the train to arrive at its last station on the route with a reduced, late penalty arrival time… :crazy: