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It's that time of year again. A near-homicidal bee was sitting on top of the paper recycling bin, aware that it had only a short time to live, and therefore keen to take some other poor bastard with it before it died. Fortunately, I spotted it in time and was not therefore stung (I allow for at least one sting in September, so to suffer one on August 31 would be a bit like the early start to the hurricane season this year -- a poor harbinger).
Then I discovered a spider in the bath. Hardy creatures, spiders. You try to flush them down the loo and they seem to puff up with air and float. So I put it on a bit of newspaper and thrust it out of the window.
I like spiders. One reason that I like spiders is that they, like me, hate flies. I found one of them in the fridge yesterday morning, feasting on my cheese. I mean, how do flies get into the fridge in the first place? I know that spiders crawl up the pipe through the plughole, but I am not the type to open the fridge door, take out the milk, and leave the fridge door open. I close it. So how does a fly get in without me spotting it? Do they work in collusion, with another fly diverting your attention? Is there some kind of David Blaine-like street magic involved? Darned if I know. And why the hell don't the bastards freeze to death? BTW, I didn't thrust the fly out of the window. I smacked it one.
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The trains were screwed this morning, which is actually quite unusual at 6.20am. What was depressingly usual, though, was that the powers-that-be could not get their act together. The train driver said that it was due to signalling problems at London Bridge, while the station informed us that it was due to a failed train between Charing Cross and Waterloo East.
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The destruction to the rear of Lewisham Towers continues apace. All the buildings have gone, but now, in an episode reminiscent of Saruman's destruction of the forests in The Lord of the Rings, the trees are going as well. This will give me, at least for a short while, an uninterrupted view south-west as far as, well, as far as the railway line, actually. I think that I preferred the trees, but it does mean that late at night I have a much longer view of the trains trundling slowly by. This is quite enjoyable, in a watching-Big-Brother kind of way.
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(Warning, an opinion that might be construed as racist is to follow).
Can someone explain to me how a stampede that results in a thousand deaths can be caused by a single cry of "there's a suicide bomber"? Is it part of the Iraqi culture? Suppose someone at a football game in the UK shouted out "suicide bomber!!!" , surely the result would not be a stampede, but a "yeah, right. Oi, ref, are you blind???"
And if you are happen to be in the midst of a suicide bombing campaign (which Baghdad is), mightn't it be a good idea not to gather in your thousands for a pilgrimage? Surely even Mohamed would have uttered sypathetic words to a believer who said "sod that for a lark, mate, that's just the kind of place where I'm likely to get blown up".
I'm trying to think of examples of "mass panic" in Britain, and none spring immediately to mind. There are lots of things wrong with the English tendency to understatement and emotion control, but I suspect that in situations where mass panic is likely to cause hundreds of deaths, the English desire not to appear to panic might be a positive survival mechanism.
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Sick thought of the day. I wonder if, in an attempt to maintain veracity, the Orleans in Las Vegas is to be moved to the lake in front of the Bellagio.
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Then I discovered a spider in the bath. Hardy creatures, spiders. You try to flush them down the loo and they seem to puff up with air and float. So I put it on a bit of newspaper and thrust it out of the window.
I like spiders. One reason that I like spiders is that they, like me, hate flies. I found one of them in the fridge yesterday morning, feasting on my cheese. I mean, how do flies get into the fridge in the first place? I know that spiders crawl up the pipe through the plughole, but I am not the type to open the fridge door, take out the milk, and leave the fridge door open. I close it. So how does a fly get in without me spotting it? Do they work in collusion, with another fly diverting your attention? Is there some kind of David Blaine-like street magic involved? Darned if I know. And why the hell don't the bastards freeze to death? BTW, I didn't thrust the fly out of the window. I smacked it one.
++++
The trains were screwed this morning, which is actually quite unusual at 6.20am. What was depressingly usual, though, was that the powers-that-be could not get their act together. The train driver said that it was due to signalling problems at London Bridge, while the station informed us that it was due to a failed train between Charing Cross and Waterloo East.
+++
The destruction to the rear of Lewisham Towers continues apace. All the buildings have gone, but now, in an episode reminiscent of Saruman's destruction of the forests in The Lord of the Rings, the trees are going as well. This will give me, at least for a short while, an uninterrupted view south-west as far as, well, as far as the railway line, actually. I think that I preferred the trees, but it does mean that late at night I have a much longer view of the trains trundling slowly by. This is quite enjoyable, in a watching-Big-Brother kind of way.
++++
(Warning, an opinion that might be construed as racist is to follow).
Can someone explain to me how a stampede that results in a thousand deaths can be caused by a single cry of "there's a suicide bomber"? Is it part of the Iraqi culture? Suppose someone at a football game in the UK shouted out "suicide bomber!!!" , surely the result would not be a stampede, but a "yeah, right. Oi, ref, are you blind???"
And if you are happen to be in the midst of a suicide bombing campaign (which Baghdad is), mightn't it be a good idea not to gather in your thousands for a pilgrimage? Surely even Mohamed would have uttered sypathetic words to a believer who said "sod that for a lark, mate, that's just the kind of place where I'm likely to get blown up".
I'm trying to think of examples of "mass panic" in Britain, and none spring immediately to mind. There are lots of things wrong with the English tendency to understatement and emotion control, but I suspect that in situations where mass panic is likely to cause hundreds of deaths, the English desire not to appear to panic might be a positive survival mechanism.
++++
Sick thought of the day. I wonder if, in an attempt to maintain veracity, the Orleans in Las Vegas is to be moved to the lake in front of the Bellagio.
+++
Myths and stampedes
Date: 2005-09-01 11:25 am (UTC)The crush in Baghdad didn't surprise me, stampedes in Mecca killed 1402 in 1990, 220 in 1994, 150 in 1998. Again in 2004, 244 were killed and the response from the authorities was
“All precautions were taken to prevent such an incident, but this is God's will. Caution isn't stronger than fate,” Hajj Minister Madani said.
I think the problem is that the crowds in these pilgrimmages are hyped up, so that anything happening is magnified beyond anything you get in the UK - but Ibrox/Hillsborough.
I'll start looking out for you on Islamic hit lists now Pete - take care.
JG
no subject
Date: 2005-09-01 12:58 pm (UTC)We don't as a culture engage in mass stampedes. The British characteristic is whinging about stuff and complaining how it will all hit house prices.
no subject
Date: 2005-09-01 07:30 pm (UTC)Everyone sits there in total frustration starved of news and then the driver comes on and says "the train is delayed due to signal failure/leaves on track/broken down train/vandalism/etc" and everyone sits back in unison as if to say "well that's all right then, our day is totally screwed but I'm happy because I know what the problem is."
When you get to work an hour late at least you will be able to tell the boss what the problem was whilst he is sacking you.
trains and myths and stampedes
Date: 2005-09-01 07:49 pm (UTC)This is a platform alteration. The six... thirty-one... train for ... London Charing Cross ... will depart from platform ... four.
At this point, virtually the entire train stood up and started to head towards platform four. This puzzled me, since there are often platform alterations of this kind when there is a backlog at London Bridge. It saves all the trains trying to go through the regular platform six. So I stayed put.
But then the driver said "Well, it appears as if the next train is on platform four, so, if you want to make your way over there..."
So I dutifully got out of the train, following the herd, but I still wasn't convinced. So I moved somewhat slowly. And, sure enough, the next thing you know, over comes an (unatomated) announcement fromthe tannoy "TRAIN AT PLATFORM SIX IS READY TO DEPART. TRAIN IS READY TO DEPART". So, I nipped back on, the doors closed, and I enjoyed a 10-minute train ride on the 6.29 to London Charing Cross in the company of three discarded newspapers and a deaf man.
Surreal, man.