The last few days have seen the country under a blanket of snow. Obviously if you live in the UK you are well aware of this. If you live outside of the UK you have probably been laughing helplessly at how a few inches of white, fluffy stuff can bring a city the size of London to a halt. Six inches of snow in many cities would barely count as a light dusting. Here buses failed to run, roads became ski runs, stations froze and schools closed. Pathetic. Or is it?
The last time London had so much snow in such a short period of time was 18 years ago. I'm sure it's perfectly possible for us to be totally ready for the next blizzard. We could install under-road heating, have snow ploughs and gritters on every corner, import salt from wherever you import salt from to cover every pavement throughout the winter, and employ people with little hammers to break up any ice that forms. It shouldn't add more than a few thousand pounds to everybody's council tax. Or we could face the fact that it's going to happen once in a while and grin and bare a couple of days of disruption once in a blue moon.
My boys spent their unexpected days off school playing with friends, sledging and having snowball fights. With snow a relative rarity in London I'm sure these last few days will stay with them forever. A couple of days off school is a small price to pay for priceless memories.
People keep asking me how I'm coping with the snow. Truth be told, I've stayed inside. Snow and wheelchairs don't mix well. Besides, it's cold, and I hate the cold. It's pretty though.
On another matter entirely, Polly has engaged in a new (previously) secret project. How many times can she get her name in print this year. So far she's made the local paper, commenting on changes to flight paths to Heathrow airport. Then she appears in the Lakeland catalogue, endorsing a heated clothes dryer. Now she has won £50 worth of vouchers in a draw rewarding people providing feedback for council services. They want a picture for another local paper of her collecting them. It gives her something to do.
Showing posts with label London Underground. Show all posts
Showing posts with label London Underground. Show all posts
Wednesday, 4 February 2009
Thursday, 17 April 2008
A Marathon Day (Part Three)
The Long Way Home.
Muscular Dystrophy had arranged a reception for those runners running to raise money for the charity. It was held at Wes
tminster Central Hall, a building I have been to and worked in many times. We crossed Parliament Square and walked along side the Queen Elizabeth II Conference Centre, which took us over one of the worst things you can inflict on a wheelchair user - cobbles. Every turn of the wheels results in teeth-shattering, bone jarring misery. They might look quaint and olde-worlde but any architect or planner who wilfully designs them into their landscaping should be made to sit in a wheelchair and rolled over them for a while. Once they have collected up the bits of wheelchair that have shaken loose they will almost certainly appreciate the merits of Tar-Mac.
tminster Central Hall, a building I have been to and worked in many times. We crossed Parliament Square and walked along side the Queen Elizabeth II Conference Centre, which took us over one of the worst things you can inflict on a wheelchair user - cobbles. Every turn of the wheels results in teeth-shattering, bone jarring misery. They might look quaint and olde-worlde but any architect or planner who wilfully designs them into their landscaping should be made to sit in a wheelchair and rolled over them for a while. Once they have collected up the bits of wheelchair that have shaken loose they will almost certainly appreciate the merits of Tar-Mac.The reception was held in the basement of the labyrinthine building and when we eventually found it we settled down to wait for Polly and Anna. We didn't have long to wait, they arrived flushed and exhausted, proudly wearing their medals and after receiving a huge cheer from the gathered supporters settled down to a plate of spagetti bolognaise and a sports massage. Anna went off with her family and Polly, Darren, Paul and I headed for home.
We negotiated the three lifts at Westminster station and hopped onto the Jubilee line. (We were getting quite slick at this underground lark by now). To b
e honest Polly didn't so much hop as hobble. Checking that there was a disabled access sign, we alighted at Waterloo and followed the signs for the Northern line. We navigated a maze of tunnels and moving walkways until we came to a dead end. Puzzled, we pressed the conveniently placed assistance button on an intercom that connected directly to customer services and were told that there was no wheelchair accessible route between the Jubilee and Northern lines. Wait a sec`, the Northern Line is wheelchair accessible? Yes. And the Jubilee line is wheelchair accessible? Yes. But you can't get from one line to the other? No. Now I know it's been a long time since my O level maths but unless there has been a huge revision of the rules of topology then that makes no sense. Er... ? So we retraced our way back through the maze, with Polly moaning that she'd already run more than 26 miles today and that this was the last bloody straw. Defeated, we limped back on to the Jubilee line (we'd given up on hopping) and made our way back to London Bridge.
We eventually made it home and Paul and Darren took their leave. Exhaustion and post-race anti-climax left Polly looking a little dejected. I asked her what the matter was. She was a bit disappointed with her time of 6 hours 13 minutes. I pointed out that the last week had hardly been ideal preparation for such a marathon event and that there were several thousand runners behind her. Suddenly she smiled. I did beat the man dressed as a McCain's oven chip!
Epilogue
That night Polly and I slept soundly. Ha!
That was the night of all nights that the air mattress on my bed chose to break down. We were greeted by the sound of a concrete mixer crossed with a pressure hose. The pump was labouring fruitlessly to inflate the mattress and was glowing red hot. I spent the night on the metal frame whilst Polly had to move me intermittently. How we laughed.
Tuesday, 15 April 2008
A Marathon Day (Part Two)
Watching Polly disappear off over Tower Bridge was strangely emotional. Thousands of people lined the route shouting encouragement, blowing whistles and banging inflatable cheer sticks together. I began to appreciate the scale of the event, more than 34,000 people running, the vast majority raising money for causes close to their hearts. People had died running this race in the past. And there was Polly right in the heart of one of the greatest sporting events on the planet, running in the same race as Olympians, celebrities and people dressed as rhinoceroses, camels and a McCain`s oven chip. How could you not be proud?
Paul, Darren and I set off for London Bridge station again. The route took us past the London Assembly, the modern rounded glass building on Queens Walk. To my surprise it was open and since the Tower House Bar hadn't had an accessible toilet I thought that we should avail ourselves of the facilities that my tax was paying for. I assumed that the building would be wheelchair friendly and as it turned out it was. First we had to negotiate an airport style security check. I was waved through with barely a cursory glance whilst Paul and Darien were subjected to everything short of a full body cavity search. (Note to terrorists - if you want to blow up Ken or Boris find a suicidal wheelchair user.) So as I said, very wheelchair friendly.
The London Assembly Building is architecturally quite stunning, a distinctive glass globe. A vast atrium makes you think the structure is hollow. A ramp spirals the edge giving access to all ten floors or you can take a lift to the viewing gallery. A platform circles the outside of the top of the building which offers views of the river and especially Tower Bridge. There are even telescopes for those who can stand up to use them. And, of course, it has accessible loos.
On our way to London Bridge station we were caught in one of those April showers Chaucer mentioned. The kind where the clouds do away with individual rain drops and settle for emptying buckets directly on to peoples heads. We entered the station dripping and headed for the lift but were intercepted by the duty station manager. He asked if we were heading for Westminster. We were, the plan was to head for Parliament Square via the Jubilee Line and to catch Polly and her friend Anna as they reached the final stretch. He told us that Westminster
station was closed west bound and wouldn't be open for 50 minutes or so due to over crowding. He told us to wait on the platform and he'd make an announcement when it opened again. So we descended in the bolshy lift again, careful not to block the doors, and waited as we watched jam-packed trains come and go. Eventually an announcement came over the tannoy saying that if the gentleman in the wheelchair would return to the ticket hall they would arrange a taxi for him. Paul, Darren and I looked at each other, this was not the level of customer service one had come to expect from London Underground. We got back in to the lift and stood well clear of the doors and made our way back to the ticket hall where we waited another 20 minutes before being told that no taxi would go near Westminster for 3 hours because of the marathon. It was then suggested that we go to the station beyond Westminster and walk back to Parliament Square. Okay, so down we went again, standing well clear of the doors, and struggled on to the next train that came along. We slowed tantalizingly as we approached Westminster station before speeding off to the frustration of our fellow passengers. We exited the train at Green Park and wandered around hopefully looking for a non-existent lift. You will not be surprised to learn at this stage that Green Park station is not wheelchair accessible. Now what?
We heaved the chair back on to an east bound train intending to return to London Bridge and seek out the station manager to thank him for his helpfulness but as luck would have it Westminster east bound was open. You have to take 3 separate lifts to get out of that station. It took over quarter of an hour before we joined the crowds gathered to watch the end of the race. The journey fro
m the London Assembly had taken more than an hour and a half and I was worried that I'd missed Polly and Anna. Finding a vantage point to watch from was quite difficult. We headed for the finish line but were thwarted by a flight of steps. A text informed me a friend had seen Polly at the 23 mile mark more than half an hour ago. With one eye on my battery gage I headed back to the square and waited anxiously as Tarzan, a man in a kilt and the camel ran by. Some joker was shouting at the runners to keep going, they were nearly half way. If any of them had had the energy left they would have run him to ground and left Nike treadmarks all over his face. And then suddenly there she was, walk jogging along with Anna by her side. We yelled her name and miraculously above the din she heard us. I don't mind admitting I had a tear in my eye as she raised her arm to wave at me. I watched with what would have been a huge grin on my face had I had the facial muscles to do so, and saw her disappear off around the corner in to the Mall and the final 385 yards. Go Polly, go!
Next time - The long journey home.
Paul, Darren and I set off for London Bridge station again. The route took us past the London Assembly, the modern rounded glass building on Queens Walk. To my surprise it was open and since the Tower House Bar hadn't had an accessible toilet I thought that we should avail ourselves of the facilities that my tax was paying for. I assumed that the building would be wheelchair friendly and as it turned out it was. First we had to negotiate an airport style security check. I was waved through with barely a cursory glance whilst Paul and Darien were subjected to everything short of a full body cavity search. (Note to terrorists - if you want to blow up Ken or Boris find a suicidal wheelchair user.) So as I said, very wheelchair friendly.
The London Assembly Building is architecturally quite stunning, a distinctive glass globe. A vast atrium makes you think the structure is hollow. A ramp spirals the edge giving access to all ten floors or you can take a lift to the viewing gallery. A platform circles the outside of the top of the building which offers views of the river and especially Tower Bridge. There are even telescopes for those who can stand up to use them. And, of course, it has accessible loos.
On our way to London Bridge station we were caught in one of those April showers Chaucer mentioned. The kind where the clouds do away with individual rain drops and settle for emptying buckets directly on to peoples heads. We entered the station dripping and headed for the lift but were intercepted by the duty station manager. He asked if we were heading for Westminster. We were, the plan was to head for Parliament Square via the Jubilee Line and to catch Polly and her friend Anna as they reached the final stretch. He told us that Westminster
station was closed west bound and wouldn't be open for 50 minutes or so due to over crowding. He told us to wait on the platform and he'd make an announcement when it opened again. So we descended in the bolshy lift again, careful not to block the doors, and waited as we watched jam-packed trains come and go. Eventually an announcement came over the tannoy saying that if the gentleman in the wheelchair would return to the ticket hall they would arrange a taxi for him. Paul, Darren and I looked at each other, this was not the level of customer service one had come to expect from London Underground. We got back in to the lift and stood well clear of the doors and made our way back to the ticket hall where we waited another 20 minutes before being told that no taxi would go near Westminster for 3 hours because of the marathon. It was then suggested that we go to the station beyond Westminster and walk back to Parliament Square. Okay, so down we went again, standing well clear of the doors, and struggled on to the next train that came along. We slowed tantalizingly as we approached Westminster station before speeding off to the frustration of our fellow passengers. We exited the train at Green Park and wandered around hopefully looking for a non-existent lift. You will not be surprised to learn at this stage that Green Park station is not wheelchair accessible. Now what?We heaved the chair back on to an east bound train intending to return to London Bridge and seek out the station manager to thank him for his helpfulness but as luck would have it Westminster east bound was open. You have to take 3 separate lifts to get out of that station. It took over quarter of an hour before we joined the crowds gathered to watch the end of the race. The journey fro
m the London Assembly had taken more than an hour and a half and I was worried that I'd missed Polly and Anna. Finding a vantage point to watch from was quite difficult. We headed for the finish line but were thwarted by a flight of steps. A text informed me a friend had seen Polly at the 23 mile mark more than half an hour ago. With one eye on my battery gage I headed back to the square and waited anxiously as Tarzan, a man in a kilt and the camel ran by. Some joker was shouting at the runners to keep going, they were nearly half way. If any of them had had the energy left they would have run him to ground and left Nike treadmarks all over his face. And then suddenly there she was, walk jogging along with Anna by her side. We yelled her name and miraculously above the din she heard us. I don't mind admitting I had a tear in my eye as she raised her arm to wave at me. I watched with what would have been a huge grin on my face had I had the facial muscles to do so, and saw her disappear off around the corner in to the Mall and the final 385 yards. Go Polly, go!Next time - The long journey home.
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