tubes & blankeys

Soaring through London's numerous museums one weekend at a time.

I wandered around the London Transport Museum on Saturday. Besides the ten pounder I had to fork out, it was worth the perusal, just on the fact that I am tube-obsessed.

I don't like taking 'em, but I DO like talking about 'em.

Just to be clear.

I was part of a story campaign a few years back, when Woollies launched it's Twist label and got a few of us to write stories 'with a twist.'
I chose to write about the Tube.

I digress. I went to a museum filled with Victorian tubes, the old red buses, the new tubes - like whole trains - and how it's developed since the 1800s.

The part where the Brits have used the tube stations as bomb shelters for both World Wars was rather interesting.

Lots of people have died underneath London's earth crust. Either by hurling themselves on the live railings, or by bomb, or by fires (from cigarette butts catching alight on the wooden staircases), or by someone tripping during a stampede.

One oke, driving the train, drove it straight into a wall, killing over 70 people. He basically committed suicide and bought the entire train along with him, as they found no brake marks or any indication it was an accident otherwise.

Bearing in mind I'm about to take a train home, and now am a little scared that the driver suddenly develops psychotic amnesia and does something insane.

My life is now at the hands of another driver. Everyday. Twice a day.

Fuck. I'm almost scared to leave work. Almost.

Anyway whatever, the real win of the weekend wasn't going to see a museum full of last centuries modes of transport.

The win was this conversation.

Ozzie: Peas, so I had a bath.

Peas: What.

Ozzie: I had a bath mate. I was intrigued as to why you found them so great and have to say I'm a changed woman. I forgot how good they were.

Peas: Wow. Seriously.

Ozzie: That's roight. Thanks for the suggestion.

She's bathing. I don't believe it.

Another strange and yet deeply touching scenario was when, on Friday, I came home after a few glasses of wine, flopped down on the couch and promptly fell asleep with a wine glass stem wedged between my thighs.

And after nudging my arm, removing the wine glass, she put a blanket over me. And I only woke up dazed and confused 10 hours later.

She also bought my washing in from the rain. Pants, bra's, the whole schtick.

Now I realise why I wanted to move into a shared house. These are the aspects I've missed.

Having friends at home. I think I can almost start calling her that.

(I've clearly underestimated her. I think. One can never be too sure when it comes to the Ozzies.)