I've managed to catch up with quite a few old friends so far this year, which is more than I can say for my blogging. Anyway, it's been good to be out and about a little more than usual, traversing the country from Norwich to Cambridge, down to Finsbury Park and on onwards through Streatham to Crawley.
The only thing wrong with being both a non-driver and catching up with old friends is that you're subject to Sunday public transport. Or more accurately, traversing through the gaps in the schedules left by the various bouts of engineering works that currently blight my life like the thirteenth plague.
Getting home often involves a squirrel-like ingenuity combined with a level of strategic planning that's rarely applied to major global conflicts. It's not simply a case of things not running, it's all those shifting timetables you've missed seeing, and the often varied interpretations of what exactly is meant by every half an hour.
The great wildcard is, of course, the rail replacement bus. When will it leave? How often do they run? How long will the journey take? Of course, it only stops at the main stops. But that often seems to mean it takes the worst routes. So what if I take this tube to here, or an overland to there? Then I grab the other bus. But what if I miss the connection? Am I going to spend the best part of my day just trying to get somewhere, even anywhere? And is it really worth worrying about? Or should I just sit my arse down for however long it takes, plugged in to poddy, with the copy of 'Kevin Smith Speaks' that Gaz lent me? But then again, I don't want to spend any more time standing in front of Clapham Junction than I unavoidably have to.
Once I would wait patiently for hours on the side of a road, trying to thumb a lift.
Listening to Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds' Dig!!! Lazarus Dig!!!
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