A Wednesday Morning: 8:15-9:00am

  • An elderly woman in a headscarf pushing an empty baby buggy down the pavement, walking slowly, singing (or more like yodelling) loudly.  About 10 feet behind, a man of the same age shuffled along.
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  • Instead of the usual Sport or ShortList handed out on the corner by the tube, today I looked twice to see that it was something different. This is a weekly magazine called Stylist given out every Wednesday morning. The first issue was published last week. It’s your typical woman’s read with fashion, beauty, diet, a smattering of events and staying in options, etc. Kept me occupied from Ealing Broadway to White City if that means anything.
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  • And speaking of free tube reading, you probably have noticed the Evening Standard has been free from this Monday. 
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  • As usual on the tube, there is at least one amusing person to write about. Today, it was a man in a tan suit with a similar coloured gym bag who sat across from me. He held a copy of a tube map, looking back and forth between it and the one posted in the train. He muttered to himself, “Now, if I take this route I’ll end up here.” A few seconds later, “No, no… This looks like a better option. Lets see here.” And then, “I wonder where this goes. What is this place.” This went on for a few stops until he got off the train at North Acton.  

Crazies on the Tube and St. Paul’s Cathedral

Sometimes I like to get on the Central Line without a destination in mind. I ride the tube until crying babies or smelly people get to me or until I don’t feel like reading my book anymore and then I get off wherever I happen to be. Today, that happened to be St Paul’s. A crazy-crazy got on at Chancery Lane and stalked through the carriage saying loudly “Who’s been eating chips? I smell chips. Someone has been eating chips.” Being London, everyone of course, tried to look occupied by digging into bags or pretending to read. This man went around and waved his hands in faces trying to get a reaction by kneeling next to them, saying, “Hello in there. Anyone home? Are you alive?” He’s frantically waving his arms, clearing out the carriage, talking about chips. In some ways, I know what he means. But alas, hello St Paul’s.

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