Yellow socks and a crush

Commuting. You have to love it. No, seriously, you have to. If not, you leave.

I pondered this earlier when wedged between the armpit of a rather handsome man (he smelt of lovely aftershave too – would it have been wrong to mention this to him?), a middle aged lady, two young men (one rather smiley and the other behind me so I could only hear him) and a young woman. How we all managed to occupy a space of about one sq meter I don’t know, but it’s some special magic applied to the likes of the Jubilee Line at London Bridge.

Middle aged lady and I couldn’t help but laugh as we pulled into Southwark and no one wanted to get off. All we could hear was ‘for godsake’ coming from the equally crowded platform.

Eventually, as we pulled in to Waterloo, someone wanted to get out of the tin can and I had to force my way off, pushing smiley man out and to the platform, moaning as I went that I probably wouldn’t get back on. Smiley did what he obviously does best and smiled back at me. Encouraged by the eye contact of a fellow commuter I asked why we do this. He laughed and agreed and then, when the people had finished exiting the train, he waved me back on before anyone else. Thank you Mr Smiley.

I found this brief mutual appreciation of our hell from a fellow passenger rather soothing. Two stops later and I was even granted the gift of a seat! When I departed my train, I followed a rather jolly man with squeaky shoes and the most amazing socks. Yellow with black dots. I was mesmerized by these and quite disappointed that they weren’t there to entertain me while I was trying not to launch my bag into the sensitive parts of Mr Handsome from the Jubilee line. It’s these little things my friend, that keep you sane when wedged in a train/tube.

I found myself apologising profusely to another gentleman when I squeezed (ok, pushed) myself onto the Bakerloo line. I can’t help but apologise. It wasn’t his fault there was no room. Although having to spend one stop on tiptoes in order to not stand on some other poor man’s feet was, perhaps, a bit too much.

The other dilemma when commuting is hair. Men don’t tend to have this problem, but as a woman with long hair, it’s a nightmare. When you are squeezed between people, you are trapped. If the hair is down, you risk overheating. If the hair is up, you risk everyone around you getting a taste of your latest shampoo and/or hairspray when you turn. Or in my case, the latest frizz controlling product.

I was feeling rather pleased at Paddington having survived the tube part of my journey. More smiles headed my way as the guard at Platform 11 was trying to herd people to their correct trains.

The problem of knowing where your train will leave from, is when things change. He saved multiple people from missing the right one and mostly because he recognised them! Good work that man!

A day to remember

I don’t think I’ll be alone in saying that Saturday 7th January 2012 was one of the best days out I’ve ever had.

The third round of the FA Cup saw Cheltenham Town travel to Tottenham Hotspur. The invasion of Ruby clad fans, arriving by Coach, London bus, overground train and car ended with what I can only describe as a beautiful sight outside the ground.

My day began, as ever, at St Neots train station where several men stood, decked out in Spurs kit, staring at me like I was from another planet. I’m guessing their geography skills were good and they were trying to work out what a woman in a Cheltenham Town shirt and scarf was doing 60 miles North of London and 110 miles from the club’s town.

They didn’t ask. I didn’t approach them.

My journey consisted of chatting with some friends, who were off to watch (a victorious) Stevenage FC at Reading and working out the travel plan for myself, my Spurs friend (P), his daughter and nephew. It was the first time P’s daughter had watched a match and the first time any of us had been to White Hart Lane.

Once we’d eventually arrived at the ground (on a bus full of Spurs fans!), we met up with several Cheltenham fans and headed for a pub. It was at this point we successfully went the wrong way and wound up with a good 10 minute or so detour. Why does that always happen?

As we started down a small street opposite the ground, we turned in time to see the team coach arrive, with Cheltenham Manager Mark Yates clapping at everyone on the pavement and the players watching on. It gave us all (P & family excluded I feel!) quite a buzz.

When we eventually arrived at the pub, we opened the door to be greeted by a packed bar. A bar full of Cheltenham Town shirts. The atmosphere was brilliant with everyone singing and chanting.

A little while later we headed back to the ground. Walking up the stairs, to be greeted by the sight of Ruby shirts on the pitch with that backdrop was amazing. Sadly the Cup run for Cheltenham was to end with a 3-0 defeat but at the hands of such opposition and putting up a good fight, I’m not sure many (if any!) could complain. Match Report.

It’s been said a number of times, but I hope the players realise just how proud we all are of them. Same goes for the work put in behind the scenes. From the moment we were drawn against Spurs the club has been professional and quick off the mark, while still providing answers to even the smallest (some times repeated!) questions on Twitter.

From organising the ticket sales, coaches, handling queries from left right and centre, and of course the ever faithful Robins Player coverage, it’s been excellent, while not letting the league coverage slip. Keeping everyone up to date, to the point where local media was close to saturated with Cheltenham Town news and views!

The best feeling for me, since Saturday, was walking into my office today and a Spurs fan commenting on how good Cheltenham played against them.

So now we look ahead to what is sure to be a great couple of months of league action and a chance to close the gap at the top of the league.

My only request?

That more of those who came to Spurs, come along to watch them in the league. Yes, visiting White Hart Lane was a great day out, but there’s nothing better than watching your team home or away in the league.

How to leave the day behind…

Every day when I leave my office, I can’t help but smile. The City at night is a beautiful sight. The tall buildings lit up against the brooding night sky.
One of my fondest memories from my time working in Canary Wharf was at Christmas. The tree branches delicately strewn with blue lights, paving the way to the sky scraper outline which signifies part of London’s financial heartland.
It’s amazing how much this can relax you after a long week or just a bad day. In a similar way to walking out of the office, breathing in the cool evening air, stretching your arms out wide and throwing your head back to stare up at the star speckled sky. Grinning manically is an option at this point. Yes, I’m sure most think I’m crazy when they walk past, but this, like the sight of the city lights helps clear my mind of the working stresses and puts everything into perspective.
My only reasoning on why this is, is that the size of the buildings or the sight of the vast expanse of the sky, put into perspective the days stresses.
Ok, so there are aspects of my day that some would find frightening, but in reality, its TV. Not life or death. If it reaches life and death then I will resign and find myself a remote farm on top of a hill in Wales with no internet or phone signal.
Its just a shame that there isn’t a beautiful view in St Neots as I step off the train or that the throwing arms out wide and staring at the sky doesn’t work twice. If it did, I may have slightly fewer dark thoughts about First Capital Connect. I think I’ve had the slowest journey ever from Hitchin this evening and it’s not helping my happy state that I left London in. Argument for moving into the City? Don’t think so. I’m not that desperate. Give me half an hour and my smiles will have returned. Can’t keep me down for long.

People around us

Today was definitely a challenge. Hadn’t felt the best when I woke up and to be faced with the prospect of my working area of the City being close off due to the student protest on tuition fees, was not something I was relishing.
My journey in provided me with the perfect tonic. Just a couple of stops in, a gentleman got on and sat opposite me. He was sporting leopard skin boots. The weirdest part was that other than the footwear, he was dressed very sedately. Dark coat and dark coloured jeans. I was in too much shock and sat far too close to take a photo as proof for my blog.
I couldn’t imagine leaning over to him, ‘Excuse me, sorry, I’m just taking a photo of your boots, hope you don’t mind’. Guessing I’d get an amused look back and he’d either think I had a foot/boot fetish or was one of those annoying commuters who tweets/blogs on trains about everyone else. While I’m on that subject, the man opposite me now is eating a flapjack and drinking coffee. I’m jealous.
Anyway, while I was still staring at the mans boots (probably now just thinks I have a fetish), the train filled up and a woman got on to sit next to me. Up until this point I was considering tweeting (@sportmadchick) about the man in the boots, but thought better of it.
The woman sat down and from her small backpack, she pulled two knitting needles, a ball of wool and a partially knitted item. It’s the first time I’ve seen anyone knit in the 8 years I’ve been doing this journey. She continued knitting until we reached London where she happily put it away and got off the train. I hope she manages to get it finished in time. Looked like it was for an item of babies clothing.
Oh and an update on the Finsbury Square camp… Couldn’t see a HR tent, but they do have a First Aid one. Safety first.