Below are a few tips for commuters to have a harmonious journey and avoid irritating your fellow man to the point of homicide….
1. Always, but always, carry a hanky or tissues. Even if you do not have a cold, your nose can run for all sorts of reasons and they are useful for mopping up spilled coffee, too.
2. Turn off the annoying beep which happens when you push the buttons on your mobile. You may have your headphones on, but we can hear it.
3. Turn your music down. I don’t care if hip hop, techno, garage and rap are best played at ear splitting volume. I don’t like it, and I don’t want to listen to it.
4. Do not try to walk across a crowded concourse whilst texting, scrolling through your music list or messages or continuing to read your ipad, kindle, book or newspaper. Put your head up and LOOK WHERE YOU ARE GOING!
5. If you must stand in the doorway of the train or tube, GET OUT OF THE WAY when it reaches a station so others can get on or off.
6. Do not squeeze yourself between other people that have had the courtesy to remove their rain soaked coats without taking yours off too.
7. Do not use up all the miserable allocation of table space with your laptop, newspaper or ridiculously large tote bag. Those facilities are there for all of us, and I want my share.
8. Do not stop immediately at the top or bottom of flights of stairs and gaze round aimlessly. There are about a thousand people behind you, all trying to get up/down/out/in. If you are lost, stand to one side, find a map or ask someone in a lurid fluorescent jacket for help. Similarly, do not dawdle – YOU ARE IN THE WAY.
9. Do not brush your long, flicky hair on the crowded train so that hair, dandruff and God knows what goes all over other people. It’s unhygienic. Either wait until you get to work, or get up two minutes earlier and do it at home.
10. Do not converse loudly either to a friend or on the phone about intimate, personal information or brag about your latest business deal or how important you are. It is embarrassing and frankly, you are not that interesting. Try to be discreet.
Finally, and this is the ultimate tip of all about commuting, if you can avoid it, DON’T DO IT!
Wednesday 23 October 2013
Wednesday 9 October 2013
Two blogs in one day! Things must be bad ....
It’s been a hell of a week since we got back from holiday!
While we were away, we got a phone call from Daughter One, an unusual enough event in itself. “Mum”, she wailed 2000 miles down the line to Crete, “I’ve broken my leg”.
Resisting the temptation to say “Well, what do you want me to do about it?”, I exhibited suitable motherly sympathy and asked all the right questions.
When we got back, I escorted her to East Surrey Hospital where she spent five hours of her life getting x-rays, a new plaster cast and seeing an orthopaedic consultant with no bedside manner whatsoever. She has broken the bottom end of her tibia, and is likely to be off work until Christmas. She cannot drive, which means that both she and the Granddaughter need to be ferried around to school, appointments etc. She will also go stir crazy not being able to do anything for twelve weeks.
Last weekend, Daughter Two went out clubbing with her friend Rosanna, who she is meant to be going on holiday with next Monday. Unfortunately, whilst getting cash out of a machine opposite said club at 1am on Sunday morning, they got mugged. Stereotypical situation – two young white women assaulted by two young black lads in hoodies, but fortunately no threatening behaviour with knives or anything. Daughter Two is OK apart from losing her stuff, a bit of a headache and a few bruises plus a fair dose of shock, but her friend is still in hospital and very poorly. She was assaulted quite hard and fell with a whack onto the pavement, hitting the back of her head. Apparently they cannot stop it bleeding, and she still cannot answer a full set of basic questions (ie what day is it?). It doesn’t look likely that they’ll be going away and we have to hope that this incident doesn’t have very sad repercussions. Poor Daughter Two!
Sister-In-Law has now also had some bad health news and has to go and see an oncologist. It may not be anything dreadful, but it’s worrying.
Work has deteriorated even further whilst I was away, and now I have to curb my working at home time to one day a week at least for a while to get a bunch of whinging, permanently dissatisfied staff back on track. Working at home two days each week has made the hideous commute bearable, and I am seriously concerned that I will have increased incidences of back and knee pain commuting four days a week. There’s no way I want to return to the days of daily Tramadol and ice packs.
So at the moment, as far as I can see it, the only way is up. Despite having come back from Crete for the third time this year only ten days ago, I feel like I’ve never been away. My stress levels are through the roof and God knows what my blood pressure reading is; I suppose I ought to take it as the next time I go along for my tablets I know Dr Williams will ask for it.
There is, of course, a lot to look forward to in the remaining months of 2013. Chris’s birthday, our tenth anniversary with a couple of great concerts in December and two nights away to celebrate, plus another trip to Crete.
The way things are here, this time I seriously might not come back.
While we were away, we got a phone call from Daughter One, an unusual enough event in itself. “Mum”, she wailed 2000 miles down the line to Crete, “I’ve broken my leg”.
Resisting the temptation to say “Well, what do you want me to do about it?”, I exhibited suitable motherly sympathy and asked all the right questions.
When we got back, I escorted her to East Surrey Hospital where she spent five hours of her life getting x-rays, a new plaster cast and seeing an orthopaedic consultant with no bedside manner whatsoever. She has broken the bottom end of her tibia, and is likely to be off work until Christmas. She cannot drive, which means that both she and the Granddaughter need to be ferried around to school, appointments etc. She will also go stir crazy not being able to do anything for twelve weeks.
Last weekend, Daughter Two went out clubbing with her friend Rosanna, who she is meant to be going on holiday with next Monday. Unfortunately, whilst getting cash out of a machine opposite said club at 1am on Sunday morning, they got mugged. Stereotypical situation – two young white women assaulted by two young black lads in hoodies, but fortunately no threatening behaviour with knives or anything. Daughter Two is OK apart from losing her stuff, a bit of a headache and a few bruises plus a fair dose of shock, but her friend is still in hospital and very poorly. She was assaulted quite hard and fell with a whack onto the pavement, hitting the back of her head. Apparently they cannot stop it bleeding, and she still cannot answer a full set of basic questions (ie what day is it?). It doesn’t look likely that they’ll be going away and we have to hope that this incident doesn’t have very sad repercussions. Poor Daughter Two!
Sister-In-Law has now also had some bad health news and has to go and see an oncologist. It may not be anything dreadful, but it’s worrying.
Work has deteriorated even further whilst I was away, and now I have to curb my working at home time to one day a week at least for a while to get a bunch of whinging, permanently dissatisfied staff back on track. Working at home two days each week has made the hideous commute bearable, and I am seriously concerned that I will have increased incidences of back and knee pain commuting four days a week. There’s no way I want to return to the days of daily Tramadol and ice packs.
So at the moment, as far as I can see it, the only way is up. Despite having come back from Crete for the third time this year only ten days ago, I feel like I’ve never been away. My stress levels are through the roof and God knows what my blood pressure reading is; I suppose I ought to take it as the next time I go along for my tablets I know Dr Williams will ask for it.
There is, of course, a lot to look forward to in the remaining months of 2013. Chris’s birthday, our tenth anniversary with a couple of great concerts in December and two nights away to celebrate, plus another trip to Crete.
The way things are here, this time I seriously might not come back.
My mouth hurts.....
I have toothache. Or, to be more accurate, I have pain in my mouth near my teeth.
I don’t actually think it is toothache per se. I’ve had that before, and it’s like having a hammer drill going at it in your mouth all the time and at double speed when you dare to move your head.
This, I think, is just an enormous ulcer at the back of my mouth where my embedded wisdom teeth leave a teensy gap between the gum and the fleshy part of my cheek. I’ve had a good gawp at it in a very bright light this morning (you know, in front of the mirror with a torch, pulling a sort of gurning competition face with my mouth stretched out) and that’s what it looks like, almost like some sort of giant, pulsating, slimy protuberance with a life of its own. Disgusting, isn’t it?
I have started to assault it with Corsodyl mouth wash (foul, but effective), a Corsodyl spray and some sort of industrial strength Bonjela type substance called Gingigel. Also rather foul, but something which in the past I have found effective.
I always do this for at least a fortnight before I even think of going to the dentist unless the pain is excruciating and preventing me living my life. I have a fear and hatred of visits to the dentist which is not equalled by my feelings about anything else associated with the normal routine of life. I have blogged before about my complete failure to see the need for six monthly or even annual checkups so long as you have good oral hygiene and don’t regularly crack your enamel on packets of rock hard pork scratchings. You don’t go to the doctors for a routine check up, so why the dentist? Just go when you have something wrong with you, for goodness sake.
The Hubby, who was brainwashed by his dentistry practising (and subsequently rich) ex sister in law, always goes along like a good little boy for his checkups and annual lecture from the hygienist. But it’s all to no avail; he has had more trouble with his teeth in the past five years than I have had in the whole of my five decades.
I am not afraid of needles, drills or anaesthetic. What I hate (really, really hate) is ‘things’ intruding into my mouth (ribald jokes now – come on, get them over with). I have a very strong gagging reflex, and just one little metal implement poking around my gums makes me retch. And as for those little square things they put into your cheeks to take x-rays , well, I’m outta there!
So I won’t be going to the dentist, at least not unless I really have to. My self help remedies from Boots have always worked so far, even if I have had to persist for a few days and run the risk of being a drooling slime monster when out in public as my mouth produces more saliva to cope with and try to counteract the alien presence growing within.
Increasing mouth ulcers and gum issues seem to be yet another thing which is increasing with my ‘certain age’. There is a definite link between when these things happen and other biological happenings, on a regular basis. And these are the things no one tells you about; yes, they tell you about hot flushes, mood swings, erratic monthly cycles etc, but not about an upset digestive system, aches and pains and dentistry difficulties.
I tell you, it’s a pain in the arse being a woman in her fifties – you blokes have it easy!
I don’t actually think it is toothache per se. I’ve had that before, and it’s like having a hammer drill going at it in your mouth all the time and at double speed when you dare to move your head.
This, I think, is just an enormous ulcer at the back of my mouth where my embedded wisdom teeth leave a teensy gap between the gum and the fleshy part of my cheek. I’ve had a good gawp at it in a very bright light this morning (you know, in front of the mirror with a torch, pulling a sort of gurning competition face with my mouth stretched out) and that’s what it looks like, almost like some sort of giant, pulsating, slimy protuberance with a life of its own. Disgusting, isn’t it?
I have started to assault it with Corsodyl mouth wash (foul, but effective), a Corsodyl spray and some sort of industrial strength Bonjela type substance called Gingigel. Also rather foul, but something which in the past I have found effective.
I always do this for at least a fortnight before I even think of going to the dentist unless the pain is excruciating and preventing me living my life. I have a fear and hatred of visits to the dentist which is not equalled by my feelings about anything else associated with the normal routine of life. I have blogged before about my complete failure to see the need for six monthly or even annual checkups so long as you have good oral hygiene and don’t regularly crack your enamel on packets of rock hard pork scratchings. You don’t go to the doctors for a routine check up, so why the dentist? Just go when you have something wrong with you, for goodness sake.
The Hubby, who was brainwashed by his dentistry practising (and subsequently rich) ex sister in law, always goes along like a good little boy for his checkups and annual lecture from the hygienist. But it’s all to no avail; he has had more trouble with his teeth in the past five years than I have had in the whole of my five decades.
I am not afraid of needles, drills or anaesthetic. What I hate (really, really hate) is ‘things’ intruding into my mouth (ribald jokes now – come on, get them over with). I have a very strong gagging reflex, and just one little metal implement poking around my gums makes me retch. And as for those little square things they put into your cheeks to take x-rays , well, I’m outta there!
So I won’t be going to the dentist, at least not unless I really have to. My self help remedies from Boots have always worked so far, even if I have had to persist for a few days and run the risk of being a drooling slime monster when out in public as my mouth produces more saliva to cope with and try to counteract the alien presence growing within.
Increasing mouth ulcers and gum issues seem to be yet another thing which is increasing with my ‘certain age’. There is a definite link between when these things happen and other biological happenings, on a regular basis. And these are the things no one tells you about; yes, they tell you about hot flushes, mood swings, erratic monthly cycles etc, but not about an upset digestive system, aches and pains and dentistry difficulties.
I tell you, it’s a pain in the arse being a woman in her fifties – you blokes have it easy!
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