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As the days are getting shorter, and the temperature drops I have cause to wonder about the heating system in trains.
Imagine, if you will, a cold winter’s day. It’s only 7 a.m. and it’s still dark. The sky is clear, the frost is glistening in the lights of the station. It’s cold. So all the people waiting for the train are wearing coats, perhaps gloves, maybe even woolly hats. And why are they wearing this stuff – because it’s cold!
The train arrives, the doors open and all the passengers pile onto the train – which is heated to furnace temperatures, and all the people who have big heavy coats on are now boiling hot. By the time the train has gone two stations, they’re dripping with sweat, and they can do nothing about it because they’re packed in like sardines. By the time they get to the end of the line, they’ve lost 2 pounds in weight, and feeling thoroughly miserable, and they smell.
If the heating had not been on, no-one would be cold, no-one would be sweaty, no-one would smell, BECAUSE THEY”RE DRESSED FOR THE COLD.
Surely it’s not beyond the wit of man to get this right, and make our winter journey to work that little bit more pleasant????
Just been out to collect my son. The night is dark but clear, and cold. The road is a ‘nice’ quiet suburban road, with reasonable sized houses set about 20 feet back from the kerb.
And not a single one has a house number that can be read from the road! I got out of the car and contemplated wandering up to a few doors to squint at the tiny, tiny numbers on pretty little flowery ceramic plates that cleverly reflected the streetlights, but reasoned that I would probably attract the attention of the local plod if I did that. So I called my son on his mobile and instructed him to come out and find me.
What kind of pretentious moron does not put a legible number on their house? “Oh, I don’t need a number. The people I want to see know where to find me!” No they don’t! The person coming to deliver the goods your sort of people order on the internet need to find you, and if they get bored, they’ll dump your goods somewhere and serve you right. The ambulance who comes for you when you have your heart attack will spend those vital minutes cruising up and down trying to spot your 1 inch high numbers and by the time they find you, you’ll be cold, and heading for that special hell reserved for you and the people that think tofu is a neat idea.
I feel better now.
By the way, for any non-Brits, plod is a term of endearment for the police force, from the Noddy books for children by Enid Blyton, where the policeman was called Mr Plod.
Have a nice day – unless you have tiny house numbers
Yesterday I attended a training course at St, Ethelburga’s in Bishopsgate, London. A few years ago the last IRA bomb in England practically demolished the church, which was re-built as a centre for peace and reconciliation.
Then, in 2005, the tube/bus bombs killed more than 50 innocent people in London. There is a memorial to the victims of this attack in St. Ethelburga’s and on the wall there is a large poster with the following prayer on it.
Wouldn’t it be good if more people took the sentiments to heart.
God of life,
Every act of violence in our world,
between myself and another,
destroys a part of your creation.
Stir within my heart a renewed sense of
reverence for all life.
Give me the vision to recognise your spirit
in every human being,
however they behave towards me.
Make possible the impossible by cultivating in me
the fertile seed of healing love.
My I play my part in breaking
the cycle of violence by realising that
peace begins with me.
