Dom Davis (The Blog)

I’m not sure if it was the cold that work Willow early this morning, or the storm that was raging, or both. I do know it was lashing down with rain and there was howling wind for most of the night. Sadly the “ventilation” in our front room basically equates to “large hold in the wall that acts like a chimney” and after two years of having the heat sucked out of the room via said vent and leaving the floor constantly cold I’m going to block the damn thing up. Yes I know it’s meant to stop CO2 buildup when we’ve got the fire on but theres enough places in the house that let in drafts (the back door for one) that the only thing we’re in danger of is being warmer and spending less on heating.

As I’m sure i’ve mentioned before the path outside the front of our house acts like a wind tunnel so when it’s windy out there’s a gale blowing down the front of the house which just aids in sucking the heat out of the house even faster and, with last nights weather, I’m surprised Willow wasn’t sucked out of the vent it was blowing so hard. It’s calmed down this morning but it’s still strong enough to stop me in my tracks when it was really blowing hard on the way to the station.

In what now seems like the dim and distant past I used to spend my weekends in Cromer, work in London and live in Colchester. This setup meant that my life features trains. A lot of trains. A lot of trains that I spent a long time on. Least favourite of these was of 05:58 Cromer to Norwich because it not only meant it was Monday, but also that it was incredibly early in a Monday, I now had a 3.5 hour commute and I wouldn’t see The Zozo again until 6:30pm on Friday (assuming I didn’t miss my connection).

The 05:58 Norwich train would come in attached to the 06:03 Sherringham train. At Cromer they would divide and I would get on to what was invariably either a single carriage train or a manky two carriage one that smelt of damp carpet. I, and perhaps 2 other people, would then head to Norwich, joined by a handful of others on the way.

Today I find myself once again catching the 05:58 although circumstances have somewhat improved. For starters it’s not Monday, I have my usual commute ahead of my, albeit time shifted slightly, I get to see the The Zozo again tonight and we appear to have the swanky 3 carriage train with comfy seats and LED indicators near the doors that is usually reserved for busier lines than ours. The handful of people using the service get to take full advantage of the fact there’s table seats for all (the regular seats simply acting as a filler between the tables so as not to make the place look too empty) and I get to spread out more than I usually can. Sadly I suspect this train will now be sent off to Yarmouth or Lowestoft and my journey home will be on one of the two regular two carriage trains, or worse, the manky one that still gets pressed into service from time to time. I console myself with the fact that these days I always get a seat. Not something I could say a few years ago.

As part of the improvement works at Morrisons they’ve repainted the zebra crossing. Hopefully this will reduce the number of people who are surprised by me stepping out into the road leading to the carpark.

I had this problem at Colchester station too. It seems the instant you put a zebra crossing on private land it no longer counts. This is why I pointedly stare down the drivers as I approach the road… and why I force them to break and let me pass. If I can’t make eye contact then I’ll approach the car and shout, swear and point at the zebra crossing they’ve just violated in order to ensure they know they’re in the wrong.

I drove into work today and, since we had the car, The Zozo suggested she meet me in town and we go have dinner and watch a film. Splendid idea I thought. Film was booked and we had a nice pizza before settling into our premier seats to watch Planet of the Apes.

About 15 minutes into the trailers a couple came into the auditorium. From the conversation they had with the people at the end of their row they had booked premier seats but someone was sitting in them. There were offers to move up and there were spare seats but no, they were going to be martyrs and sit in the normal seats and bitch loudly about people sitting where they shouldn’t. Then they moved closer to us and bitched more. It can’t be us, I thought, we have tickets and I’m sat in the right seats.

Thankfully they shut up during the film but the bitching resumed when it finished included some very pointed “some twats don’t understand seat numbers” said very loudly next to me while waiting for The Zozo.

As we left there was more abuse and The Zozo turned round and asked if they had a problem. The bloke indicates he did and that he didn’t like the fact we’d sat in their seats. The Zozo enquired as to why they didn’t just speak to us I pulled out my tickets and showed him we were sat in the correct ones. He retrieved his tickets and lo and behold, same seats.

Seeing as this guy seems very pissed off about the whole thing I suggest that if he wants to complain I’d go with him to prove they’d been double booked and they could get their money back. He retorted that I should perhaps “get out of his face before he really got pissed off because I was winding him up”.

Sensing that claret may be imminent The Zozo steps between him and me, purely, you understand, to spare me damaging him. He might have been a big lad but he wasn’t very bright and there were three bouncers nearby who’d take him down sharpish (plus, if he was really slow I could use tai chi on him).

Insults were traded, The Zozo played the pregnant card, we walked off. It’s kind of put a dampner on the evening. Film was good, audience contained twats.

So, first off, why are we getting relegated to platform 4A. We not allowed a whole platform to ourselves any more? Secondly, who are all you people on the train? Thirdly, and most importantly, what are doing in my seat? I’ve been relegated to some crappy seat at the end of the carriage. This is Not On.

On a related note, let’s not have the screaming child for the whole journey, OK? They’re old enough to talk in coherent sentences so let’s discourage the communication via loud shrieks shall we?

There is a field we pass on the train journey between Cromer and Norwich. Actually there are many fields, but the particular field I am thinking of has things going on in it. Constructiony type things. Initially I thought the array of frames and what looked like pipes was for some über irrigation system. This turned out not to be the case. Turns out it’s a ruddy great big solar array. Not entirely sure how much power it’s going to generate as we start our slide into winter but I’m guessing someone’s worked out it’s viable. Couple that with the huge offshore windfarm and North Norfolk is getting very green.

It’s Cromer Carnival at the moment and this evenings it’s the big parade. Now, if I’d been sensible and thought about this, I would have taken today off. The Zozo has a day off which we could have spent together; at some point I need to nip to the doctors which is going to require me not being at work; I’d get to see the Red Arrows for once; I’d avoid the hordes on the way home.

Sadly I didn’t think about it so instead in going to leave work an hour early, meet up with The Zozo after she’s been shopping in Norwich and head home with her to watch the big parade. As is traditional on these types of outing dinner will consist of a dodgy burger or suspect hotdog from a friendly street vendor.

I’m sure I’ve whinged about this before, but I’m going to again. The ticket barriers in Norwich station are beginning to really piss me off. Not because they’re there (I spent over a decade commuting in London, you kind of get used to them), it’s just they are so slow.

Go to any central London station and you’ll either see the new issue slimline TFL gates or (assuming any are still kicking about) the old style tube ticket gates. Now, we’ll forget about Oyster, forget about other people, it’s just you and the TFL gate. Doesn’t matter which style, either way you can walk up to one of these, feed in your ticket, retrieve your ticket and walk through, all in one deft motion without breaking your stride.

The same action at Norwich involves you trying to feed your ticket in. Assuming you can. While it’s never happened to me, some people seem to be unable to feed their ticket in, and I don’t think it’s through blind stupidity as it happens far too often and isn’t something you see often in London. The next party trick is for the mechanism to pull in the ticket, then spit it out, the pull it in repeatedly while the hapless traveler tries to time the retrieval properly. It does stop after 5 or so goes but there isn’t the immediate (and admittedly ignored) beep, “Please seek assistance” you get from the TFL gates. Let’s say you’re lucky and your ticket goes through. It’s now a wait of at least a second, if not more before the gates slowly open. It’s enough to make you wonder if it’s even accepted your ticket. Anyway, eventually you walk through and, an eon or so later, the gates close behind you.

Stick that kind of gate into Bank station at morning rush hour and you’d have queues from the ticket hall all the way to the DLR (a sod of a long way). And that’s from people who understand the concept of a ticket barrier.

Now add in all the holiday makers and day trippers to whom a ticket barrier is a novelty. They stand in front of the barrier (an act that would get them trampled to death in London), fish out a ticket, attempt to feed it in, wait for it to open and head through. Even if the person behind has their ticket to hand they’ll invariably wait for the gates to shut before making their attempt. It just takes forever. It’s little wonder they throw open one if the disabled gates and just have someone take a cursory glance at people’s tickets as people stream through. Or they could have just invested in some proper barriers that work instead of these annoying, slow cheap ones they’ve got.

Last night at Norwich station was a farce. Arrive, discover there’s an intercity on platform 4, check the board, told it’s platform 6. Two trains on platform 6, so I get on the last one given it’s got the usual 2 carriages and the doors open. 5 minutes later we’re told over the intercom that this isn’t our train, so we all decamp and look at the boards. Platform 5. Great. 30 seconds later and a train arrives, at the same time we’re told over the tannoy that we want platform 6. Boards are still showing platform 5 and the guard that told us we weren’t going on the train on platform 6 was also waiting for this train. The guard on the arriving train, however, was adamant that we were supposed to be on the train on platform 6, although that’s only because that’s what he’d heard on the tannoy as they pulled in. So we head back to our original train to discover that, yes, this is the one we’re supposed to be on… we think. Cue many announcements to try and quell the confusion and many comments from annoyed passengers. It’s little wonder I get paranoid about if I’m on the right train these days.

Recently I’ve noticed a few people on Facebook posting updates from Endomondo about how far and fast they’ve run/walked/cycled/etc and I thought I’d give it a go, mainly to see how far I walk to and from work and how many cakes it offsets. I grabbed the iPhone app yesterday and gave it a go on my way into work yesterday.

Essentially the iPhone app is a GPS tracker, stop watch and calorie calculator all in one, recording your route as you go and timing you. You can get various stats, for example split times at 1km intervals. It will also feedback some information to you as you go.

What I wasn’t expecting was feedback from others. Goron had somehow spotted me signing up to the Endomondo website within seconds of me doing so and he was already on my friends list as I started my first “walking” activity. 200m in and my music fades out to be replaced by a computerised female voice: “Message from Adrian: Go faster!”

This rather unexpected and amusing “pep talk” did bring a grin to my face as I sought a way to retort on my phone. 800m later and again the music fades: “1km in 9m 18s”. Fair do’s. Except not everyone agreed: “Message from Adrian: 1km in 9m 18s? That’s a woman’s pace!”, which I have to admit made me laugh.

I’ve subsequently learned that my route home from work is 100m or so shorter than my current route in and that I walk 1km in 9m 18s almost exactly pretty consistently – and by consistently I mean it was 9m 17s on the way back. Sadly the 167 calories burned while walking does not offset a cake