The everyday blog of Richard Bartle.
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7:57pm on Saturday, 5th February, 2011:
I went to London to meet a friend today. Here's what happened on my journey there and back.
On the way there, there was a small child singing on the train. Here's what he sang:
"I'm a little teapot, short and stout.
Here's my handle, here's my spout.
When I see the tea come, hear me shout
Tip me out and pour ... me ... er ... "
Also on the train were two girls who were walking noisily up the aisle. One of them was wearing a pink sash. At first, I thought they were collecting for breast cancer or something, but no, they were on their way to a hen party. They were demanding of random people in chairs to know where the bar was. They gave a definite impression of having already consumed more alcohol than I have in my entire life. This would be at about 11:45am.
In London, about 1:15pm, I came across a man of about 60 who was wearing a dinner suit: black tuxedo with silk ribbon details. He was walking very slowly, as you might if you were crossing a 500m-deep gorge bridged by a plank. He looked seriously worried that he might fall off the pavement and onto the, well, pavement. When he reached the road, opposite a pub, he stopped and steeled himself, putting his hands out like someone about to take a running jump from the roof of one building to that of another nearby. Someone outside the pub shouted, "Come on, it's clear!". He crossed the road like he was wading through waist-deep water.
On my way back to Colchester, I walked to Tottenham Court Road tube station only to find it was closed. A path round the back of it that looked like it should lead to Oxford Street was a dead end. Everyone who walked up that path turned the corner, saw it was a dead end, and walked back. None of them, me included, said anything to warn the people walking the opposite direction who, 20 seconds later, would themselves find out that it was a dead end.
Outside Holborn tube station I was accosted by two lasses with clipboards. They were doing some kind of survey for an A-level, I think. Here's how the conversation went:
Girl: Excuse me, we're doing a survey. Can you tell me who you think is the most intelligent person who has ever lived?
Hey, philosophically speaking, as far as I know I'm the only person who has ever lived. You lot could be figments of my imagination. You're going to be in real trouble when I die.
On the train back, the person in the seat behind the one across the aisle to my left spent some time on her mobile phone discussing with her daughter how she was going to explain the fact that she had a ticket for a different train. She was going to play the "confused by new technology" card and say she didn't understand the Internet when she booked it. I knew she was wasting her time, and sure enough, I was proven right. No-one checked any tickets between London and Colchester, where she also got off.
Oh, and for those of you eager to find out if you got yesterday's joker quiz correct, here's the answer:
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Copyright © 2011 Richard Bartle (firstname.lastname@example.org).