After last time’s rant, I’m sure people will be very pleased to know that I have little to say for myself this time.
Mostly, we’re preparing for The Expedition to Scapa Flow due to start at Base Camp Rochester on 10 August. One could say that I’m slightly nervous, as I’m the only girly travelling via our Sherpa type bus from Rochester up to the Orkneys; I haven’t quite worked out how to tell the boys that, being biologically different from them, when I need the bathroom, we are going to have to actually stop somewhere. There will be a couple of other girlies joining us at Stromness, fortunately.
Monday 16 July saw the final Duke of Edinburgh class, so we had fun playing with toys in the lecture, and playing games in the pool. We think the girls enjoyed it all; we certainly did.
Our final Scapa meeting was at the end of the week, and we munched choccy biccies and drank beer for the evening as a practice for Expedition food rations.
Saturday dive failed to happen yet again, so Sunday we jumped in the lake so practice could be had carrying a pony (a small cylinder as a back up). Much fun was had doing acrobatics for buoyancy practice, and trying to squeeze through very small gaps with all this extra kit on.
Also, with old camera on its last legs, we acquired new camera with marine housing. Jumped in lake on Wednesday with the intention of trying it out. Played with both new and old cameras and had a lot of fun. Especially as the Pike came to see what we were doing and posed for a couple of shots (see attached).
Had lunch with Mel on Saturday, and had mutual congratulatory session on acquiring our Harry otter books without any queuing.
You have to understand that my postman is a lovely guy, but a lazy sod. He doesn’t bother with trying to deliver anything which might not fit through a standard letterbox, instead electing to write out all his little red cards in advance and delivering those instead. Which means he doesn’t have to carry stuff around, and we don’t have to wait the usual four hours or so for him to take the undeliverable stuff back to the sorting office.
So, knowing this, and having ordered my Harry Potter book from Amazon, I carefully planned the Saturday so that I’d get my red card and get to the post office with minimal queuing and with contingencies for diving or not, etc, etc. So imagine my very pleasant surprise when postie rang my doorbell at 8am precisely and handed me my Harry book with a big grin.
And, yes I’d finished reading it within 24 hours.
And that’s pretty much all I have to say for myself.
Saturday 28 July 2007
Saturday 14 July 2007
Traffic rant!
Public Service Announcement: We have survived not only the first of July aka the day the one-way system went two-way, but also the Tour De France, so bring it on, dudes, we can take it!
The first of July was pretty much uneventful, with no one venturing anywhere near Ashford town centre and all the smokers huddling in each others back gardens attempting to recover from the massive hangovers and lung ash from the Saturday night smoking parties.
The second of July was pandemonium. Having to take dive kit straight from work to go to Chatham, I took car in to work. If I wasn’t so worried about the dive lecture I was due to give, I might have engaged my brain cell, but well, I didn’t. Which is how come it took me forty five minutes to make a drive that takes me twenty minutes to walk. However, I was awake enough to note all the lemmings who were in the left hand lane, because they were so used to going clockwise, and those lemmings with last minute inspirations leaping from the left lane to the right lane at the last possible moment.
When I left work, I immediately came out of the car park, and went anti-clockwise around the shiny new two way system, and zipped on my way, marvelling at how improved the whole thing was, and laughing at the nose to tail gridlock in going clockwise. Two weeks later, it’s still generally quicker to go anti-clockwise.
On the impossibly stupid side, someone has clearly pointed out that Ashford is the home of roundabouts, a comment which I can only think must have given the Head of Roundabouts a, er, well, a big head, and/or upset the Head of Traffic Lights. Because we now have a set of traffic lights a minimum of twenty yards apart all the way round.
Except outside Lidle’s where, to the best of my counting ability, there seems to be four independent sets of lights four car lengths apart. Now, all of this could be consider an efficient thing, especially if, like me, you anticipate a masterpiece of light sequencing that would mean traffic go, traffic stop, pedestrians go, pedestrians stop etc. Or, sequenced such that if one goes at a steady 20mph (I typed 200mph first time which seems much more fun), one can pass through most sets unhindered. Or something.
But no. The Head of Traffic Lights keeps a control board of buttons in his office to manually operate each set, except he’s got too distracted by the Head of Road Art and left the control board in the bottom of a cage of hyperactive rats. Or, at least that’s what it seems like when you’re sixteenth in a queue of cars, and after waiting six minutes on red, the traffic lights turn green for precisely twelve seconds before going red again.
From a pedestrian point of view, if one wants to cross the road, one needs carefully plan one’s way, and ideally go across in groups of four. Two buddy pairs performing a pincer movement in a stealthy manner may just result in one group member getting across successfully. This is counted as a win. Because all this waiting and inconvenience for cars, is not a penalty for drivers in favour of pedestrians; by the time pedestrians have waited for the interesting sequencing to come around to the pedestrian green lights most will have died of old age. Now there’s an argument for six point two children before reaching twenty one
The sequencing does seem to be improving, mostly due to the little rat like men standing by each set of traffic lights and fiddling with them. The lemmings are slowly learning the meaning of ‘anti-clockwise’, drivers are becoming adept at not only the usual driving skills, but also spotting sneak road crossings by frustrated pedestrians, traffic lights popping up out of nowhere, and inspired lemmings performing random lane changes.
Hum. So. Just as we’re all trying to get a handle on this, the second of July also brought the influx of letters telling the entire population of Ashford that if they had no off road parking, or wanted to leave Ashford on Sunday 8th July, then they had to leave their cars on the outskirts of Ashford from Saturday evening to Sunday morning. Any other year, and I think everyone would have been happy to do this for something as prestigious as the Tour De France. Not this year.
No one in their right mind would leave their vehicle on the outskirts of town on a Saturday night unless they were looking to make an insurance claim, but okay, with the volume of cars, perhaps that wouldn’t be a problem. Those without cars who want to get out of town can only get out if they want to go by train, because the buses can’t run. Businesses who would have been open on the Sunday, and might have done well selling food to spectators etc., can’t. Because not even business vehicles are allowed, which means no refrigerated vans delivering health and safety approved food for cooking/consumption.
In the end, I understand that things weren’t quite that rigid in practice, but it’s understandable that for the entire week between going two way and the Tour de France arriving, the entire event was viewed as yet another disorganised upheaval. And the event itself was much enjoyed by those that decided to go and spectate; it was certainly a good day for it.
I'm not even going to get started on Junction 10.
The good news is that art installation consisting of road signs has been moved away from the box junction where the art was easily confused with actual road signs. Still no word on what the birds painted on the tarmac are about.
We went diving instead. It was a very good dive.
The Duke of Edinburgh lecture and pool lesson went well. And this last week I’ve been put in charge of the incredibly nervous Ocean Diver student.
Hum. Rant Over.
The first of July was pretty much uneventful, with no one venturing anywhere near Ashford town centre and all the smokers huddling in each others back gardens attempting to recover from the massive hangovers and lung ash from the Saturday night smoking parties.
The second of July was pandemonium. Having to take dive kit straight from work to go to Chatham, I took car in to work. If I wasn’t so worried about the dive lecture I was due to give, I might have engaged my brain cell, but well, I didn’t. Which is how come it took me forty five minutes to make a drive that takes me twenty minutes to walk. However, I was awake enough to note all the lemmings who were in the left hand lane, because they were so used to going clockwise, and those lemmings with last minute inspirations leaping from the left lane to the right lane at the last possible moment.
When I left work, I immediately came out of the car park, and went anti-clockwise around the shiny new two way system, and zipped on my way, marvelling at how improved the whole thing was, and laughing at the nose to tail gridlock in going clockwise. Two weeks later, it’s still generally quicker to go anti-clockwise.
On the impossibly stupid side, someone has clearly pointed out that Ashford is the home of roundabouts, a comment which I can only think must have given the Head of Roundabouts a, er, well, a big head, and/or upset the Head of Traffic Lights. Because we now have a set of traffic lights a minimum of twenty yards apart all the way round.
Except outside Lidle’s where, to the best of my counting ability, there seems to be four independent sets of lights four car lengths apart. Now, all of this could be consider an efficient thing, especially if, like me, you anticipate a masterpiece of light sequencing that would mean traffic go, traffic stop, pedestrians go, pedestrians stop etc. Or, sequenced such that if one goes at a steady 20mph (I typed 200mph first time which seems much more fun), one can pass through most sets unhindered. Or something.
But no. The Head of Traffic Lights keeps a control board of buttons in his office to manually operate each set, except he’s got too distracted by the Head of Road Art and left the control board in the bottom of a cage of hyperactive rats. Or, at least that’s what it seems like when you’re sixteenth in a queue of cars, and after waiting six minutes on red, the traffic lights turn green for precisely twelve seconds before going red again.
From a pedestrian point of view, if one wants to cross the road, one needs carefully plan one’s way, and ideally go across in groups of four. Two buddy pairs performing a pincer movement in a stealthy manner may just result in one group member getting across successfully. This is counted as a win. Because all this waiting and inconvenience for cars, is not a penalty for drivers in favour of pedestrians; by the time pedestrians have waited for the interesting sequencing to come around to the pedestrian green lights most will have died of old age. Now there’s an argument for six point two children before reaching twenty one
The sequencing does seem to be improving, mostly due to the little rat like men standing by each set of traffic lights and fiddling with them. The lemmings are slowly learning the meaning of ‘anti-clockwise’, drivers are becoming adept at not only the usual driving skills, but also spotting sneak road crossings by frustrated pedestrians, traffic lights popping up out of nowhere, and inspired lemmings performing random lane changes.
Hum. So. Just as we’re all trying to get a handle on this, the second of July also brought the influx of letters telling the entire population of Ashford that if they had no off road parking, or wanted to leave Ashford on Sunday 8th July, then they had to leave their cars on the outskirts of Ashford from Saturday evening to Sunday morning. Any other year, and I think everyone would have been happy to do this for something as prestigious as the Tour De France. Not this year.
No one in their right mind would leave their vehicle on the outskirts of town on a Saturday night unless they were looking to make an insurance claim, but okay, with the volume of cars, perhaps that wouldn’t be a problem. Those without cars who want to get out of town can only get out if they want to go by train, because the buses can’t run. Businesses who would have been open on the Sunday, and might have done well selling food to spectators etc., can’t. Because not even business vehicles are allowed, which means no refrigerated vans delivering health and safety approved food for cooking/consumption.
In the end, I understand that things weren’t quite that rigid in practice, but it’s understandable that for the entire week between going two way and the Tour de France arriving, the entire event was viewed as yet another disorganised upheaval. And the event itself was much enjoyed by those that decided to go and spectate; it was certainly a good day for it.
I'm not even going to get started on Junction 10.
The good news is that art installation consisting of road signs has been moved away from the box junction where the art was easily confused with actual road signs. Still no word on what the birds painted on the tarmac are about.
We went diving instead. It was a very good dive.
The Duke of Edinburgh lecture and pool lesson went well. And this last week I’ve been put in charge of the incredibly nervous Ocean Diver student.
Hum. Rant Over.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
