SparkyCentral

Snow

I meant to post this a week or two ago.

The first snow of winter in Trafalgar Square!

Add comment November 29th, 2005

New Stars?

I’ve become a little obsessed. With a poster. It’s a poster that seems to be everywhere. I see it at the train station. I see it on bus stops. I see it as I’m driving into the Rotherhithe tunnel. I see it in my sleep. It’s taking over my life. Here it is:

Unremarkable you may say. That’s what I thought at first. But now I have noticed it I can’t stop staring into the eyes of the three men on it. They have icy stares. Stares that say ‘I’m wearing a suit and I am an important part of your life. You will do as I say.’ And I have become obsessed with the details of the poster, which suggest the opposite is true.

These people have nothing to do with me. A London-wide advertising campaign has been created to advertise that James Ridgewell, Guy de Blonay and Jamie Allsopp have got themselves jobs at New Star. Good for them! What’s New Star? What do they do? What is a UK Special Situations Fund? I’m sure there are people in London who have to deal with these guys on a regular basis, or to whom their appointment is big news, but can they really be so important that a poster has to be placed at 100 yard intervals across the whole of London?

Now I know I’m not the greatest looking guy on earth, but who thought that these three were poster material? Guy looks like he’s in pain, Jamie has a hairstyle like something from American Psycho and James just looks plain evil. Never has the stereotypical perception of suit-wearing, finance-dealing, City-located kind been rendered so successfully, and on such a grand scale, before.

I hate them even though I’ve never met them! I hate them, and everything they do, and everything they stand for. And I hate the people that wasted endless tens of thousands of pounds putting their faces everywhere even more. It’s an unhealthy obsession. And the more I hate them the more they stare at me!

Add comment November 17th, 2005

Retraction

Ok, I admit it. I was wrong. The lights on Carnaby St actually look pretty good once it gets dark.

Add comment November 11th, 2005

Tsk tsk tsk tsk

Not having a great week, so I’m afraid it’s another ranting entry.

I think it’s a sign of the level of ignorance and stupidity becoming the norm in this country that despite endless complaining from anybody you come into contact with, people still think it’s acceptable to have their music broadcast around public transport via their shitty, little, tinny earphones. Apart from being intensely annoying to all in earshot, it should also be embarrassing to the culprits as more often than not their choice of tunes is utter garbage. I boarded the very crowded train this morning intent on shutting out the fact that I was pressed against some of the scariest folk in SE London, in very unnatural heat and with a 97.8% likelihood of delays occurring.

I soon realised this was unlikely to happen as the peace and quiet of the 07:56 from Hayes was shattered by ‘tsk tsk tsk tsk’ from someone’s mobile phone earphones. This was cue for someone else to whack up their volume, possibly but unexcusably to drown out the first guy. Then on gets another at the next stop! Obviously, no one says anything. Just a few evil looks which are met with continued ignorance. I would have mentioned it to the one nearest me (who was also playing the loudest and shittest music), but after my run-in last Friday I decided to continue trying to block them out. Which just got me more riled.

At this point I noticed the space hoggers. The people who think that reading a paper (usually Metro) gives them the God-given right to extra space in the crush, usually enough space for 2 or 3 people. Angry looks and huffing and puffing are exchanged when the space-hogger’s paper is jostled, despite the jostler having to stand on one leg and rest their head in someone’s armpit for lack of room.

I could go on. So I will. I am yet to mention (until now) the ringtones. You’d think after all the piss-taking in the media and the general vibe in society at large that annoying and silly ringtones are the domain of 12-year-olds and wankers, that people would steer clear and just have their phone ring. Or vibrate. Or anything. Oh no. Every morning some otherwise normal looking commuter on their way to work has to scrabble around desperately to retrieve their phone which has turned into a audio version of one of those ‘I’m with stupid’ t-shirts. I guess the only explanation for the proliferation of the Jamster ads on TV is that people actually think Crazy Frog is good and spend a good chunk of their disposable income on this shit. Which really worries me.

What will I whinge about tomorrow? Who knows… Have you seen the state of this year’s Carnaby Street Christmas lights?

Add comment November 10th, 2005

Blistered thumb flesh

The promised rain never materialised, so off we set on the yearly pilgrimage to Blackheath. The biggest free fireworks display in London apparently. Last year was a bit cloudy, and we got there a bit late, and The Vincents didn’t even make it after choosing to drive up. This year we were ready, especially the Rubester who had a full-on bear suit (complete with ears) to keep out any November chills, and deafening bangs the like of which her 4 month old ears have never heard.

Fireworks were OK. The usual pattern of low ones, big ones, even bigger ones, back to the low ones, then more big ones, then the REALLY big ones, then it’s all over. This year had the addition of some waterfall-esque ones whose sparkly bits kept sparkling all the way back down to earth creating a big curtain of sparkliness. Then the trudge home, complete with one incident of juvenile throwing firework at crowd of people and traffic.

Once back in Da ‘Well, attention was turned to the main event. Lidl had blessed us with more of their extra-cheap and extra-impressive fireworks with which to take our life into our own hands, and The Vincents had brought along a box of intermediate fireworks big enough to keep us going until almost midnight. Which is what happened.

It all passed virtually without incident. I managed to burn my thumb lighting a ‘Nebula’ with a cigarette lighter, and Mr Vincent managed to set off a roman candle under the tree which got a bit hairy, but at least this year we didn’t hear the huge rockets come crashing back to earth via someone’s shed! And The Rubester slept through the whole thing!! Back inside for slightly over-crispy jacket spuds with chilli and a discussion about pants, then off to bed, with lavender balm on my now throbbing thumb.

I was going to say “Until next year.”, but of course fireworks will be making an early comeback in April for the celebrating of the nuptials. I’ll let someone else light them then.

Add comment November 6th, 2005

Suits you

It takes something worth ranting about to kickstart blog writing when it hasn’t happened for a week or two.

They say bad luck comes in threes, but I didn’t really believe it until today. Firstly, my train to work was delayed by nearly 15 minutes again today. Not that surprising you might say, but 15 minutes delay on a 20 minute journey is quite a lot.

Next came a run-in with a suit. In my experience people who wear suits to work are either poor souls whose profession of choice requires them to wear this uniform under the misguided belief that suit wearers somehow look more professional or respectable, or they are people who believe the above and enjoy wearing a suit as it gives them a feeling of power and superiority. The latter are usually complete cocks, and so was the case with my fellow traveller in the ticket queue at Charing Cross this morning.

My first mistake was to not realise that there is one queue for two windows. When the window in front of me became empty and I made a move toward it the guy next to me pushed past muttering grumpily “Would you like to wait in line?”. I explained that it was a mistake and that I thought there were two queues. His response was to attempt to belittle me by sarcastically pointing out the obvious instruction above the windows. “That told you!” said the bewildered but smiling non-suit behind me, at which point I made my second mistake.

“Yeah, I know” I said with a surprised tone and laughed slightly. “You’d better stop laughing at me if you know what’s good for you” said Mr. Suit as he lurched towards me threateningly. “Are you threatening me?” I inquired, a bit bemused by the guy’s sudden bad attitude, and gave another laugh. “Laugh one more time and I’ll twat you” he shouted as he turned back to his ticket purchase. Raised eyebrows and a shoulder shrug were shared by myself and the now rather concerned looking guy behind me.

At this point the other window became free and I got on with the job in hand, opting to ignore Mr. Suit and let him wander off, red mist in tow. There’s not really any excuse for unprovoked threats of violence at 9:30am on a Friday morning. Maybe he was also pissed off (in a more dramatic fashion) that the trains were delayed. Maybe his whole family had just been hit by a stray comet. My instinct tells me that he was just a cock trying to assert his manly, suit-induced authority over me and that my audacity in making a simple error had resigned me to his wrath, and his poor work colleagues to a day of untold grief.

Reaching Pret I realised that I was lacking in breakfast money, but to complete the trilogy the cash machine on Broadwick Street was empty. So, late for work, stressed out by a verbal battering, and no breakfast. Luckily the rest of the day has been OK so far.

Add comment November 4th, 2005