States of water

Two weeks in, and I am already more than used to the new schedule, new streets and new air. New pavement. In fact, so new I am still hesitant on setting a foot in them. The polished stone floors from the famous square nearby are borderline negligent of Health and Safety issues. But I just face it as a daily challenge of not falling on my face every morning. Perhaps it is a signal for me to resole my beloved boots.

The streaky purple and yellow sky of my first week abandoned its position, turning pitch dark until I reach Waterloo. Now the sky is turning grey-ish blue. My coat is still damp from the drops of rain that fell while crossing the slippery square. Rain that, in fact, felt heavier than normal. Not heavy in amount, but in weight. Heavy rain, often sign of some imminent weather event.

Minutes after boarding my train, I spot a few fellow commuters, rushing to grab their smart phone in order to capture the white landscape with their Instagrams and share it with boss, friends and partner. And so do I. And it is that while approaching those London affluent suburbs, nowhere near my first stop, I realise that the heavy water at around 4 degrees C, where it is in its higher density (hence the 'heavy' feeling), is now experimenting the expected density drop after the maximum peak of density, so while approaching the 0 degree figure, the plain old water is turning into fluffy opaque flakes.

It is snowing.

And as we passed the suburbs and the limits of Greater London, the white blanket is getting thicker and brighter, partly because the sun finally rose but it is hiding behind the greedy clouds. The train commenced emitting quite unusual scratching noises, and a strange glow flashes the trains and platforms as the train moves forward. It feels as though we were travelling in a giant limousine crossing Fifth Avenue in NY, followed by very persistent paparazzi flashing their camera. But is it the glow of the sparks. It is the sparks created by the friction between the train and the icy steel rails. Flashing lights.

There is barely a centimetre of snow, it is not even Winter yet.

But I am stuck somewhere near West Byfleet, at least 50 minutes late from the first stop.

I am still hopeful.

Until all my batteries die.

But I am back.

And I will have a lot of stories.

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Ode to commuting

I wake up at 6 am

All I want is a Krispy Kreme


Shower, clothes, get things ready,

Walk downstairs a bit unsteady



Housemate is up, making coffee

He's on a diet but wants some toffee



Don't slam the door, housemates sleeping

Sun's out, men are sweeping



Oyster, iPad, iPod, phone

Need a Brollie, not my own



I walk agile those few meters

Bag feels heavy, just like liters



7 o'clock, arrive at the station

Train is coming: wind, vibration



Train is crowded, no more seats

Elbow, pushing, no defeat



Famous Circus, change of train

Find the tunnel, don't delay



3 minutes left. WiFi is On

Check your Twitter and some (dot)com



Brown as earth and old as hell

Jolting parts and dodgy old smell


I don't hate it, it's just Bakerloo

Doesnt matter, call at Waterloo *

*i know, i know... this rhyming is sh*te, but how would you rhyme Bakerloo otherwise?



It is done. Tube ride's over

From one transport to another



7:35. Train departs

Stretch your legs. Journey starts



40 minutes is my train ride

Breakfast and sleeping is implied



I wave bye-bye to the Shard

Foggy, sunny... Avant-garde



Passed through Vauxhall, smells like toast

It's where Nero and Costa do their roast


Pimlico Plumbers flashy in December

Tacky lighting since November



Workmates flirting, it's quite funny

Catering trolley: porridge and honey



You nosy, stop staring at my screen

Keep looking, will show something obscene



8:18: we are almost there

Sun is out but not a glare


My location is not disclosed

London and there: juxtaposed


Run for the bus at 8:19

Cross, not looking, light's not green



Taking this bus is like lottery

When I miss it, eyes go watery


Short bus ride to reach the office

8:30. What a journey!



This is it. It's my morning

Don't disturb me. It's a warning

Re-engineer

London is certainly a big city. Its transport network expands towards the most remote place on the outskirts, yet it has to carry the equivalent of its extension in number of passenger.

There is no day that we have the daily reminder of how overcrowded the system already is, and how close it is to the edge of absolute chaos and destruction. Destruction.

Underground system in which some of the stations, the clients, the commuters, have to be managed to literally flow along the corridors just like a fluid would do in a pipe. Narrow victorian tunnels added to the small platforms do not allow the current volume of traffic at certain hours of the day, which by the way, those hours are dangerously increasing being almost all day long. Cages are closed, flow is diverted so that the way to the platform takes longer to walk. Pipes again. Straight away, it comes to my mind the famous Bernoully´s Principle. Laminar and turbulent flow. Flow should be laminar on the tube.

But it is one little disruption, a slight change of plan, and the domino effect starts. Starts every morning, and its where gamblers should really bet on: which line is going to be disrupted today?

It is therefore, of paramount importance, that the usual London commuter may be able to engineer, without a hint of doubt (although the use of gadgets is allowed), at least 3 different routes to reach their destination. Only long-months-breeded species can appreciate the fact that not only just one line will fail in the morning. Chances are, there is always at least 2 lines with ´Severe Delays´.

And here is the tricky part: A Londoner´s commuting time tends to be extensive, not because of the distance to cover, but for the planned Cushion time prepared for the case of a contingency.

Turns out that after careful engineering, said fellow commuters end up arriving probably at least 20 minutes early on daily basis. But the inability to dispose them at any occasion may result in total disaster. Destruction. Again.

And its funny that some of us, probably most of us, end up choosing our preferred location to live in accordance to our commuting needs, rather than because we like the area. Decisions like this are ruled by the number of Underground Lines and 24 four hours buses stopping at your front door.

Because in this case, more is more. More is better.

I need to move out.