It may be the summer holidays for the school kids, (what a genius idea by the way), but that doesn't mean the learning has to stop. It's amazing just how much there is to learn still, as a degree-level-educated twenty four year old. And I don't just mean the boring stuff, like calculating how it's humanly possibly that after five years of steady decline, ones car insurance premium inexplicable rises. Or discovering how to switch the 'keypad lock' funtion off your new BlackBerry without realising how you'd put it on in the first place.
This week alone, (bearing in mind it's merely Wednesday), I have already learned the following useful life lessons:
1. On the whole, a bath is never, ever as good as you think or hope it's going to be. They are usually shortlived occasions spent trying to contort yourself into an unasethicly shaped device, (ironic really considering it's design purpose should be to contain the human form in a spacious and comfortable fashion). Inevitably, the water is either too hot or too cold and if the former then it turns tepid too quickly and the worst part of the unexpected ordeal is the inability to lie down for a proper soak, without a stray limb protruding out in a corpse like fashion.
2. Both The Weakest Link and Eggheads use the same quiz questions as selected from a shared database... FACT.
3. The ranting lady on the bus who has spent the past week complaining about the changes to the timetable should be listened to with the same level of respect and awe that a novice apprentice would their mentor. She is right, the changes are unreasonable and will result in me having to change my entire morning routine. Had she not been so vocal about her discontent, I would have been none the wiser and probably stood like a lemon waiting for a non-existent bus for at least three mornings before bothering to seek an explanation. Thank God for loudmouths. And eavesdropping.
4. It take three days, three hours and 49 minutes to reach the moon. I Googled it, so there!
5. Much like a bath, a meal at Nandos will almost invariably disappoint and bloat simultaneously.
6. Carrying an umbrella around in August is not daft, it is adviseable. Remember, we are in England.
Who knows what nuggets of knowledge and trivia the next few days will bring!
Remember, life may be mundane sometimes, (alright a lot of the time), but there's always an opportunity to broaden the mind through imagining and philosophising wherever you may be and whatever you may be (or should be) doing.
For now, that is all. 'Til next time, that's it from me, Simpleton McGee.
Showing posts with label bus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bus. Show all posts
Tuesday, 24 August 2010
Monday, 17 November 2008
Sponge
I recently made the executive decision to stop driving to work. Despite having put significant time and effort into writing a dissertation about Climate Change a mere few months ago (hypocrisy is apparently my middle name) , I usual love the ten-minute cruise into town in Roxy, my trusty, cherry-red Saxo. Well I don’t quite ‘love’ it, in the way that one ‘loves’ chocolate, or Disney musicals, or cats. But I do quite enjoy blasting out some mega-tunes on the commute, to gear me up for the day ahead.
My love for this daily ritual began deteriorating steadily after having to part with NINE POUNDS (count ‘em) a day for the privilege of parking upon arrival at my destination. If I’m going to be pumping coinage to the equivalent weight of a bar of gold into a battered machine that will probably reject half of them or deny their insertion, then I expect a darn sight more than... well whatever it is I am getting from this seemingly pointless activity! It’s not even as if I’m guaranteed security against pesky hoodies or nifty-fingered loiterers, as emphasised by the delightfully-reassuring ‘vehicles left at owners’ own risk’ signage. Yes, paying for parking is quite a bugbear of mine.
As if having to fork out for the parking in the first-place wasn’t enough to dampen my eight thirty AM spirits, I can’t say that I revelled in the daily walk past the building site, (which by the way seems to have been under construction for the last millennia without threatening any sign of completion, let alone bearing any resemblance to a ‘building’). They’ve probably just decided ‘You know what lads? Let’s just take it easy for a while. I mean, it’s not as if anyone has the money to buy property at the moment anyway!’
So, as a result of my general dislike towards early morning bankruptcy and sexual harassment, I have begun taking the bus to work. Ah yes, the fondly dubbed ‘peasant wagon’ as my friends like to call it. A little harsh if I might say so, but I see their point.
In many ways the bus is just as (if not more) unpleasant than the car-park fiasco. The fact that I have to be outside of my house at the bus stop forty-five minutes before I have to be at work regardless of the fact that the journey takes ten minutes is one reason. Or how about the indescribably irritating habit that numerous youths have of blasting their music from their phones’ tinny speakers for the entire world to hear? And not forgetting the vile inhabitants, such as one particularly nasty piece of work I encountered last week. His taunting of an innocent bystander was too much for my pre-caffeine sedated state and as a result of his ignorance he ended up on the receiving end of a full-on verbal attack courtesy of moi. Yes, the general smell, texture of the scratchy faux-velvet seats and unclean-feel of the mode of transport are amongst other reasons not to bus-it.
However there is one overwhelming advantage to taking the bus, and that is the opportunity to become a sponge.
When I am on the bus I literally zone-out from my worry-riddled, thought-filled head and absorb my surroundings. I find myself attentively people watching, eavesdropping on conversations and making social observations. (This, I now realise, is probably the reason I launched into my tirade aimed at know-it-all-smart-arse boy last week!)
Everyday the same school children get on. Inevitably one of them will start to play music from their phone. But I can forgive them. Perhaps it is because it seems so recent that I myself was catching the bus to school on a daily basis. I remember the rituals, like whose seat ‘belonged’ to whom and the consequences of this unwritten rule being compromised. I, after about a two year period of initiation, starting from the very front of the bus and gradually working back as your age, confidence and resultant status in the playground grew, sat on the back row of seats most days. It is fascinating and heartbreaking to observe this common and apparently ever-popular teenage ritual occurring before your very eyes.
Another observation I made at the bus stop was the hilarious manner in which older people struggle to use a mobile phone. One particular man produced a fairly outdated model from his jacket pocket and looked at it with such confusion that a passer-by would be forgiven for mistaking him as having just discovered a cheque for a few million quid just casually screwed up in his coat. The moment was classic and one I assume too familiar to numerous teens whose parents still struggle to operate even the simplest of devices.
As I sat at the stop listening to my IPod on shuffle (is it just me that can never decide what to listen to?!) observing the world and its people go by I realised how insignificant I was. It reminded me of a time a few weeks earlier where I’d become inspired to write on my blog, but had never gotten round to it. I was taken ‘out into the field’ at my new job, to see what the Sales Execs that contact me in the office actually get up to. It involved making some calls in local shops and our first stop was in a place you wouldn’t know existed unless someone told you it was there. It was one of those estates that time and the rest of the world had forgotten. And it got me thinking about how much of a bubble I live in. Ignorance can be bliss, but sometimes, like in moments like this I needed that wake up call to make me realise and appreciate the things I do have. This estate was obviously in quite a deprived area (one that I didn’t even know was there, despite it being practically on my doorstep). I remember feeling sudden pangs of guilt that, due to my up-until now ‘unemployed’ status, I had cancelled my monthly donation to the Red Cross. This may seem extreme, but I do have a big conscience and sometimes even the smallest of jolts can knock it. I felt selfish and superficial and above all embarrassed by my ignorance.
I guess the point I’m trying to make is that we all need to open our eyes a bit more and start behaving with more courtesy and compassion for the people around us and people less fortunate than ourselves. It’s all too easy to turn a blind eye. But sooner or later your bubble might burst and when it does you’ll be thankful for that sponge who decided to take the bus today.
My love for this daily ritual began deteriorating steadily after having to part with NINE POUNDS (count ‘em) a day for the privilege of parking upon arrival at my destination. If I’m going to be pumping coinage to the equivalent weight of a bar of gold into a battered machine that will probably reject half of them or deny their insertion, then I expect a darn sight more than... well whatever it is I am getting from this seemingly pointless activity! It’s not even as if I’m guaranteed security against pesky hoodies or nifty-fingered loiterers, as emphasised by the delightfully-reassuring ‘vehicles left at owners’ own risk’ signage. Yes, paying for parking is quite a bugbear of mine.
As if having to fork out for the parking in the first-place wasn’t enough to dampen my eight thirty AM spirits, I can’t say that I revelled in the daily walk past the building site, (which by the way seems to have been under construction for the last millennia without threatening any sign of completion, let alone bearing any resemblance to a ‘building’). They’ve probably just decided ‘You know what lads? Let’s just take it easy for a while. I mean, it’s not as if anyone has the money to buy property at the moment anyway!’
So, as a result of my general dislike towards early morning bankruptcy and sexual harassment, I have begun taking the bus to work. Ah yes, the fondly dubbed ‘peasant wagon’ as my friends like to call it. A little harsh if I might say so, but I see their point.
In many ways the bus is just as (if not more) unpleasant than the car-park fiasco. The fact that I have to be outside of my house at the bus stop forty-five minutes before I have to be at work regardless of the fact that the journey takes ten minutes is one reason. Or how about the indescribably irritating habit that numerous youths have of blasting their music from their phones’ tinny speakers for the entire world to hear? And not forgetting the vile inhabitants, such as one particularly nasty piece of work I encountered last week. His taunting of an innocent bystander was too much for my pre-caffeine sedated state and as a result of his ignorance he ended up on the receiving end of a full-on verbal attack courtesy of moi. Yes, the general smell, texture of the scratchy faux-velvet seats and unclean-feel of the mode of transport are amongst other reasons not to bus-it.
However there is one overwhelming advantage to taking the bus, and that is the opportunity to become a sponge.
When I am on the bus I literally zone-out from my worry-riddled, thought-filled head and absorb my surroundings. I find myself attentively people watching, eavesdropping on conversations and making social observations. (This, I now realise, is probably the reason I launched into my tirade aimed at know-it-all-smart-arse boy last week!)
Everyday the same school children get on. Inevitably one of them will start to play music from their phone. But I can forgive them. Perhaps it is because it seems so recent that I myself was catching the bus to school on a daily basis. I remember the rituals, like whose seat ‘belonged’ to whom and the consequences of this unwritten rule being compromised. I, after about a two year period of initiation, starting from the very front of the bus and gradually working back as your age, confidence and resultant status in the playground grew, sat on the back row of seats most days. It is fascinating and heartbreaking to observe this common and apparently ever-popular teenage ritual occurring before your very eyes.
Another observation I made at the bus stop was the hilarious manner in which older people struggle to use a mobile phone. One particular man produced a fairly outdated model from his jacket pocket and looked at it with such confusion that a passer-by would be forgiven for mistaking him as having just discovered a cheque for a few million quid just casually screwed up in his coat. The moment was classic and one I assume too familiar to numerous teens whose parents still struggle to operate even the simplest of devices.
As I sat at the stop listening to my IPod on shuffle (is it just me that can never decide what to listen to?!) observing the world and its people go by I realised how insignificant I was. It reminded me of a time a few weeks earlier where I’d become inspired to write on my blog, but had never gotten round to it. I was taken ‘out into the field’ at my new job, to see what the Sales Execs that contact me in the office actually get up to. It involved making some calls in local shops and our first stop was in a place you wouldn’t know existed unless someone told you it was there. It was one of those estates that time and the rest of the world had forgotten. And it got me thinking about how much of a bubble I live in. Ignorance can be bliss, but sometimes, like in moments like this I needed that wake up call to make me realise and appreciate the things I do have. This estate was obviously in quite a deprived area (one that I didn’t even know was there, despite it being practically on my doorstep). I remember feeling sudden pangs of guilt that, due to my up-until now ‘unemployed’ status, I had cancelled my monthly donation to the Red Cross. This may seem extreme, but I do have a big conscience and sometimes even the smallest of jolts can knock it. I felt selfish and superficial and above all embarrassed by my ignorance.
I guess the point I’m trying to make is that we all need to open our eyes a bit more and start behaving with more courtesy and compassion for the people around us and people less fortunate than ourselves. It’s all too easy to turn a blind eye. But sooner or later your bubble might burst and when it does you’ll be thankful for that sponge who decided to take the bus today.
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