Diary of a Suburban Squeen

I know how you all like a little London transport story, and boy have I got a doozy for you. Think of Shackleton, or Scott, or Hillary, and then thrust them aside. The Boysown genre has a new hero of brave and daring exploration. And yes, that hero is me. I have never been one to indulge in false modesty.

My story begins some weeks ago, when pim2005 sent me a plaintive little email asking if I could I do Brownies this Friday, as she was planning to be gadding around somewhere (in what I suspect is a very unheroic fashion). Kindly, I assented. Some might call me saintly, but I would flap a self-deprecating hand at that; one should not go overboard.

The day of Brownies dawned (today, for those who weren't paying sufficient attention), neither particularly bright nor particularly clear, but heroic souls such as myself disregard such unencouraging omens. I merrily took my new route to work (Barnes-Clapham Junction-Balham-Tooting Broadway), and burst into the office with enthusiasm shining from every inch of my happy little face*. And I knew had a task to look forward to that would challenge me in every way possible: to plot a journey from Tooting Broadway (deepest, darkest south west London) to Lee (deepest, darkest south east London). A journey, more over, that had to take place in rush hour on a Friday, between my leaving work and the start of Brownies at 6, and that could not involve zone 1 (my travelcard being confined to zones 2 and 3).

A challenge indeed.

Reader, it would not be true to say I was undaunted by this prospect. Travel between south west and south east, for those not familiar with London's transport infrastructure, is notoriously difficult. The received wisdom is that it is speediest and most straightforward to go in and then out again, as it were. The recommended route between Tooting and Lee would be to take the Northern line up to either Waterloo or London Bridge and pick up the overground train to Lee. A simple journey; TfL's favoured choice on the Journey Planner. But those more eagle-eyed of you will notice the flaw: both Waterloo and London Bridge are in zone 1.

[An editorial note, again for those not familiar with London transport. Zone 1 is like a ticket of doom when it comes to your transport costs. Zone 1 is the single most expensive zone to travel in, because, natch, it's central London and has all the fun touristy-businessy-travel-through stuff going on for it. Travelling through zone 1 on your way somewhere will double your ticket price, even if you don't stop there. Additionally, if you only have a travelcard for zone 2-3, as I do, travelling through zone 1 (a) means having to pay more money and (b) when that travel involves a train, it apparently becomes stupidly complicated and usually requires queuing for three hours.]

Another route was needed. I consulted Journey Planner again. Unfortunately, Journey Planner is pretty much wedded to the in-and-out-again option. Hmm, I thought. What I need is an option to not go through zone 1. On closer examination, Journey Planner does not provide this function (probably, though I am of course reluctant to impute negative motives to such a fine institution as Tranport for London, because the cocks want everyone to go through zone 1 so they can overcharge them). Bum. I could, of course, exclude the train option altogether, but since Lee isn't on the tube, that would mean a bus journey. In London. In rush hour. With a 6pm deadline.

I needed to think this through, before my voyage was scuppered altogether. I needed to gather together every scrap of experience I'd had travelling round south London, every piece of research I'd done on train times, every half-remembered bus map. How, oh how, could I solve this seemingly unsurmountable problem?

I decided to approach it logically. The easiest method of transport would be the tube from Tooting and the train to Lee. If I couldn't get to London Bridge, how far could I get? Elephant & Castle, as it turns out. Conversely, the first station I could catch the Lee train from was New Cross. Well, then, I simply had to bridge the gap between E&C and New Cross. Couldn't be far, I thought. And it turned out it wasn't that far, and there were two buses that did it. Woo! Victory! I wrote down the details on a little piece of paper, much as I imagine whathisname did when planning his route into the African interior.

But then I was inspecting my proposed route on a little map, and I realised something about New Cross station: it was but a hop, skip and a jump from New Cross Gate station. Hmm, I thought. Interesting, I thought. Because I could tell from the trainlines on the map that New Cross Gate was on the same line as Forest Hill, which is on the same line as Balham and Clapham Junction - it does a big loop between Victoria and London Bridge.

Did you notice? Did you feel that little thrill of discovery? Did you pick up on that key name: Balham. Bal-ham. Gateway to the south (oh yes). Balham, which is on my way to work. Balham, which is but two stops from Tooting Broadway. Feverishly, I returned to Journey Planner, cursing its inefficiency as it tried to exclude trains and tubes again. A

And, readers, there it was. There was my route. Tube to Balham. Train to New Cross Gate. A little wander down the road, then picking up the Lee train from New Cross. It couldn't be simpler. I didn't even have to approach central London. I left work just after 4, and was at the church just before Brownies started.

And in theory, the journey home was to be as simple; the New Cross Gate train back to Balham would travel through to Clapham Junction, where I could catch the train to Barnes. The only problem: Lee changed its timetable recently. If you don't catch the 19.40 train, you're waiting there a fucking lifetime. Brownies finishes at 19.30, but they don't all go immediately. And I had to catch the 19.40, or I'd not get a train from New Cross Gate until about 21.00.

I had swiftly** written a quick email to xanantha, explaining I would have to leave on the dot, to which she was amenable (thank you, darling). Brownies happened. 19.30 came, and I rushed out of that church hall like there were hellhounds on my tail, coat, scarf and bag clutched to my bosom.

And this is where fate intervened. I was nearly at the bus stop by Lee station, when I noticed there was a 202 there. A 202 going to Crystal Palace. Ein minuten bitte (I thought to myself): Crystal Palace is a station between New Cross Gate and Clapham Junction. Taking the word for the deed (or something), I jumped on board, and asked if he was going to Crystal Palace station. He said yes. I asked how long it would take. He said about 40 minutes. I swiped my travelcard and sat down.

Which is the point the man in front of me asked me if I wanted Crystal Palace station. On learning that I did indeed, he informed me that the bus didn't in fact go there. I knew the bus driver had sounded a bit useless. However, in the course of our conversation, I heard the name Sydenham. And Sydenham... well, I imagine you can guess what train line Sydenham station is on!

Actually, the man wasn't sure it quite stopped at the station, and then he got off, and I was left alone in a strange land. Alone, but for my trusty iPhone, because I had a little brainwave. With GPS and a little map, I could see when I came near to a station! Anyway, when it came to it, the 202 did in fact go past Sydenham station, and I caught a train to Clapham Junction, arriving there at a perkily early 20.28. I would easily reach home by nine, which is usually when Katie got home from Brownies when using the in-and-out-again method.

(I didn't: I got off at Clapham to buy plastic white bread for bacon sandwiches and yogurt to mix with my fig jam, and then I got the bus home: still in by 9.15.)

And there you have it. A little transport adventure. Go about your business, and remember this shining tale. As with Robert the Bruce and the spider (whether told in mime or words***), one must try and try and try again if the Journey Planner doens't give one what one wants.






* This is a lie for narrative purposes. It was a Friday morning, I'd had a busy week, with a faffy journey across London and back to look forward to. I was neither merry, enthusiastic or happy.

** This is an in-joke for katie__pillar. It involves a British spy, a ski resort, a strip club, and an eastern European girl called Anna.

*** This is an in-joke for the Dandelion Bitches.

Oh, what a lot of things I have to relate. Well, not that many really. My life is not, after all, so very thrilling. Hmm, let me see. So, the other night, pim2005 came round for dinner. I cooked curry. It wasn’t ace. I also made some chocolate mousse, ditto. We watched Waiting For God and had a little bitch. It was perfectly charming. Last night, we had pizza (yum) and watched NCIS. Tonight, I am going to weird_bird’s, and then bopping back home to welcome into the fold Chris, who is using FT as a cheap (viz. free) alternative to a hotel.

Tomorrow, however, will be a beautiful day. katie__pillar and I are meeting balooky and klo_the_hobbit at the National Theatre and doing their backstage tour (OMG HOW MUCH DO I LOVE THE NATIONAL? AS MUCH AS THE SKY!), then going on to lunch in Trafalgar Square, and then rounding things off with the Wodehouse exhibition in Mayfair (or wherever it is; I’m not really sure; I just like the idea of its being in Mayfair). How ace does that day sound? Fingers crossed the weather will oblige, for there’s nothing drearier than tramping round the grey streets of London in the pouring rain (espesh when one doesn’t own an umbrella; or, rather, all one’s umbrellas have mysteriously vanished: I blame Borrowers).

Anyway, further to the tale of last night’s pizza, I was extremely disappointed in the White Hart Lane Sainsbury’s. Six kinds of cheddar and grated cheddar in a bag, but do they have any grated mozzarella to put onto homemade pizza? No they fucking don’t. It’s like the new Tesco in Sheen, which, although full to the gunwales of stuff, never actually seems to have anything. It’s freakish. Every single time I’ve gone there to get something, they’ve never had it, and I’ve had to go to Waitrose. Given that they constructed themselves right opposite Waitrose (where the Woolworths used to be – oh, Woolworths, my lost darling…), you’d think they’d make more of an effort to compete, but they’re rubbish. Anyway, that’s all by the by. Grr – Sainsbury’s – no cheese. Also, apparently a lead-lined box, because I had no phone reception.

On the plus side, however, when I was walking down the Terrace between Barnes Bridge station and the White Hart pub, it was so lovely! The sun was just sliding behind the horizon, and the sunset was glittering off the Thames (high tide), and there were lots of trees and ducks (and, fine, the Mortlake Brewery, which is a bit of an eyesore), and it were all gorgeous like out of yon picture book. We do live in a nice area. *sighs happily*

In other news, I’m a bit late to the party with this, but what the fuck is it with this free Polanski bollocks? Leaving aside the total bizarreness of slebs queuing up to support a man found guilty of inappropriate sexual conduct* with a thirteen year old girl who then fled the country (OMG WHAT PART OF ‘HE DID A BAD, BAD THING’ DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?), this is a man who was found guilty of a crime, fled the country before he could be sentenced, and finally got caught with a view to being extradited. Whatever the whys and wherefores of the case, simple judicial procedure is at stake here: of course he should have to answer to the courts. And then, of course, there is the RAPED A CHILD aspect, which you would think was a no-brainer. Are the people supporting him actually damaged in the head? So fucking what if he’s an ‘artist’? No one should be above the law.



* My understanding of this is that he was accused of rape, and then plea-bargained to unlawful sexual intercourse with a minor (presumably statutory rape by any other name?). And, please. My understanding of thirteen year old girls is that they are unlikely to be mature enough to properly consent to sexual intercourse with old men.

Had a lovely sojourn with Katie to Greenwich Park today to see Donna. We sat in the sun and dined well on picnic food and fizzy pink wine - good times. I then abandoned them to bop around London, and came home. Now. Riddle me this, people: at what point did I think getting a bus home from Aldwych on a Saturday afternoon was a good plan. If I'd just nipped across Waterloo Bridge and got the train, I'd have been home by the time my stupid bus shuddered from a crawl to a stop at Hyde Park Corner, where I had to change because my particular No. 9 had decided not to bother going to Hammersmith. Whatevs. I got home in the end. Comedy moment: chap wearing a Captain Hammer t-shirt in Hammersmith whilst I was listening to the Dr Horrible soundtrack!

( Just taking a minute to be a tiny bit sad. )

Also, the Savoy is still closed. What gives, Savoy? It's been nearly two years! How long can it possibly to take to get restored?

Also, Katie and I came up with a bit of nice SPN fic for me to write (OMG this week's ep not actually shit!!!). So I might do that this afternoon.

♥ Given his choices in life, it’s really quite fortunate, when you think about it, that Nick Griffin has such an eminently punchable face…

♥ So. Tube strike. (Although apparently the Jubilee line is sort of running – what’s that about? Am confused.) I made my EPIC, EPIC journey into work. I could have got the train to Waterloo and attempt some sort of bus-related manoeuvre, but I thought, no, do not be so foolish. Every man and his dog will be attempting to get onto a bus at Waterloo. It will be hideous and all the buses will be packed and all will be trag. So, instead – and follow me closely, here – I took the train to Richmond (ha ha! travelling against the flow!) and there caught the overground train to Finchley – woo! Go me! It was about twenty minutes late getting to Finchley, but that still gave me 45 minutes to walk down to St John’s Wood (which would have been more than enough, except I popped into Waitrose to buy a yogurt or summat, except the Finchley Road Waitrose is much bigger than I was expecting and I didn’t know where anything was and OH MH GOD IT WAS SO STRESSFUL so I just flailed a bit then left, and then I went into M&S at Swiss Cottage and found a yogurt but then some random woman WAS BUYING HER ENTIRE WEEK’S SHOPPING WTF WTF? and since it was 9 am there was only about half a person behind the counter, so I had to wait. But heigh ho, I made it to work WITH A WHOLE ENTIRE MINUTE TO SPARE. Woo. \o/ TAKE THAT, RMT!!!

♥ Further to my EPIC, EPIC journey, on the train to Finchley I was sitting next to a woman who looked like Death! Actually like Death, from the comic books! I texted Katie and she warned me against letting myself be reaped (reaped? rept? anyone?), so I was very wary until Brondesbury Park, when she got off, presumably with a different reaping target in mind. So, there was that.

♥ Also, you will all, I have no doubt, be gratified to hear that I appear to have solved my crap scaly complexion problem by the power of MOISTURISING. I know. It’s like a tiny miracle. Who knew that would work?

♥ In other news, I am reading sarahtales’ book (it’s shaping up nicely, btw), and by page 4 it had an unkindness of ravens. Reader, I LOLed. (Just to confirm, that’s not LOLing in a ‘what a ridiculous phrase! I scorn it!’ way, but in a ‘yes, I know that’s the correct collective noun, but it has an extra layer of OTH-based hilarity’ way.)

*waves*

Hope everyone's OK.