Where is St Christopher when you need him?

I was brought up being told that St Christopher was the patron saint of travellers. Infact when I was a child, everyone I knew had a necklace with a little medallion with him on it. I was a Catholic, but I am quite sure that you didn’t need to be in the ‘club’ for him to work his magic.

So where is he? I strongly suspect that he has been excommunicated due to his abysmal track record, especially where the 7.08 train from Beckenham Junction to Victoria is concerned.

Putting aside, for this blog anyway, my frustration with Southern and South Eastern Rail services, (I have the dubious pleasure of using both these companies for my commute into work), I want to rant about the Commuter.

Is it just me or perhaps my specific daily commute that makes me confront, on a daily basis, a mixture of people who, frankly, should either be on medication or seeking professional advice, but really should not be amongst us unaccompanied? I am also quite sure that many of these people hold down responsible jobs, captains of industry and the like. So what happens to them as they wait on the platform, because that’s where it starts. The jockeying for position as the train approaches, not allowing anyone off, just incase they lose their square foot of platform. The over enthusiastic use of shoulders to barge their way onto the train. Then there are the people on the train - no please don’t move to let us on, even though there is room. They stand there defending their spot, as if somebody’s life was at stake.

And if you are lucky enough to spot a seat, why do you have to stand there whilst (sorry ladies) handbags are slowly moved onto laps, and then comes the tut and ‘that’ look...for goodness sake you don’t pay for a seat for your handbag, so move the darn thing.

Don’t get me started about overweight people taking up half of the seat that I have managed to bag. I happen to be fairly slim, but I still pay for a WHOLE seat, and having to squeeze into a space that a contortionist would have a problem with, complete with my handbag, and to have to sit there for the entire journey with everything squished in stressful, although maybe good for my core muscles.

And there are the ones who talk loudly on their mobiles. I have no desire to know the intimate details of your love life, (although occasionally I listen up in case I may be missing out on a trick or two). I also do not need to be a party to your arguments. Let’s face it at 7.08 in the morning my brain is barely functioning, and whilst I admire the fact that you can string pretty plausible arguments together, I have no desire to witness it.

On the subject of phones - if it rings ANSWER IT- the entire carriage has heard it ring 5 times, we all know it’s yours, (commuters develop their own pin point accurate radar system), so how come you do not know? And then do not add insult to injury by allowing it to continue to ring whilst you look at the screen to check out the number - just ANSWER IT!

I know it annoys some people when women apply make-up on the train, but personally I find it quite useful to see the before and after as well as pick up tips on what to use and how to apply, or not as the case may be. Sometimes this is fairly scary, especially when you get the ‘what are you looking at’ scowl. It’s free entertainment as far as I am concerned - get over yourself.

I like music, all music really, but I don’t want to listen to the tinny sound of  noise coming from your ear phones -invest in better ones, turn the volume down (you will be deaf by the time you are 30), or sit ANYWHERE but near me.

Buy tissues! I have personally handed tissues to commuters who have sniffed, sneezed and coughed their way through the journey. I don’t want it, whatever you have, keep it to yourself! Did your mother never tell you not to sniff - same rule applies on the train - you have not slipped into a parallel universe for the journey where sniffing and the like are acceptable. And why is it that no matter how hard I glare at you, you still sit there sniffing, reading the Metro or playing with your phone, oblivious to my laser stare boring into your skull?

Okay we know when it rains we need an umbrella, and on the train the umbrella is closed, ladies we have this totally under control, but men - it is an umbrella, it has a pointy end. It is not a jousting stick. Keep the pointy end down. Avoid placing it under your arm like a newspaper where the pointy end sticks out. I have seen many people almost lose eyes, stabbed in the chest and other areas, and one lady had her handbag hooked. If you can’t use it responsibly don’t use one and get wet instead, saving untold injuries to your fellow travellers.

And when the train gets into the station, us poor people who have stood the entire way are entitled to get off the train first, unless we let you off. So sit down and WAIT. Being smug that you have a seat is fine but don’t then expect us not to stamp our rights when we can, and don’t tut and sigh heavily, just don’t...

Finally, Oyster Cards/Tickets - do not wait until you get to the barrier to fish around in every pocket/handbag/briefcase that you possess looking for it. It is annoying and causes us seasoned half awake commuters to slam into the back of you as we are on robot mode, it is very early and we are conditioned, and if you are a man with an umbrella you could kill somebody...

I could go on and on. I haven’t covered people who bring bikes onto crowded trains, people eating, beggars on train, reading over my shoulder, the announcements, people with poor personal hygiene...

Perhaps I could do with some divine intervention, St Christopher’s clearly MIA, so I googled it...and came up with Ekahau a Mayan God of travellers and merchants, and so I have specifically appointed him to rule over the 7.08 Beckenham Junction to Victoria.

May the force be with you..  Everything is OK on the Happy Carriage

Cathy x

David Haye - not just a nice bum...

Well I have to admit it - ‘I’m a Celebrity’ is my guilty pleasure. I’ve always liked it but this year was the best one ever.  It was great fun, we had nice contestants, the bush tucker trials were horrible, Ant and Dec were on top form and there was THAT shower scene. Everyone has gone on about Mylene Klass and the white bikini but David Haye, naked under the waterfall, ladies....well....all I can say is...pwooor! (Gentlemen...please go to the gym...go directly to the gym and do not pass go!)

I actually know another side of David Haye. Yes I know, what with Ross Kemp the other week and now this, I am positively almost an A lister myself! He bought a house in my neck of the woods, (David not Ross!); him and his gorgeous wife and baby son, and I once dropped an invite to a party through his letterbox.

It’s not as mad as you might think, well maybe it is, but I was a little short on the ground of Big Names to invite, (well actually his was the only address I knew), but there was a connection. The surprise party was for Ash coming back from Afghanistan and Ash and his brother are both great Haye fans, having driven to Manchester to watch him win his world title. So I thought it fitting.

Unfortunately the date I picked was not only David Hayes birthday, (although we could have arranged a joint do?), but also the day he retired from boxing.  So I guess he could be forgiven for not attending the knees up at The Swan in West Wickham, although Mick & Lisa are the best landlords ever. He did however contact me through his PA expressing his regret that he could not attend and sent Ash a personally signed book with a notation to him on it. It was a lovely thing to do and I will be forever grateful for that small act of kindness that made Ash’s eyes light up.

Ash had been on Operation Herrick 14 and away for 7 of the longest months of my life. But he was back now, safe and sound, and we wanted to throw a party for him and put the past 7 months Out There behind us.

In my diary I wrote:

My covert mission to ensure that Ash’s party remains a total secret is going very well. The Swan is on high alert and Gary has been in to decorate the room with balloons and bunting. Mick and Lisa have arranged a disco and I have put numerous photos from Out There onto a memory stick to be projected onto the TV screen during the evening. Lisa’s mum has baked a cake and Mick and a guy from the British Legion have supplied flags. Rosie and Sammie have contacted everyone they know and we are hoping for a good turnout. The local press will be there and Lisa has arranged for the Crystal Palace Cheerleaders to come in and give him a cheer, complete with pom-poms!

 

My mission is to get him there without spoiling the surprise. I decide to tell him that my friend Chris is over with her sons from Italy and that they want to say hi and see his medals. I tell him that they will be in the local Pizza Express at eight o’clock and perhaps we could just pop in to see them. Luckily Ash has no other plans for the evening: he informs me that all his mates are being ‘right wusses’ and don’t want to go out tonight. I smile. I make a furtive call to Italy to tell Chris that she mustn’t telephone me later as she is supposed to be here in the UK. She laughs and is delighted that her family is part of the deception.

With military precision I text Gary at 7.56 to let him know that we are leaving the house. At 7.59 we get to Pizza Express, the designated place to meet Chris and the boys, only to find, surprisingly, that they are not there.

‘Oh, Ash, I wonder where they can be?’ We stand outside, looking through the window of the restaurant.

‘Let me call her.’ I reach for my phone and dial Gary’s number. ‘We’re outside Pizza Express.’

‘We are all ready here, Mum,’ Gary says. I pause for further effect. ‘Caught in traffic?’ I respond. I look at Ash and raise my eyebrows. ‘You’ll be about ten minutes?’

‘He hasn’t got a clue, has he, Mum?’ Gary says.

‘Just a minute, Chris. They’re caught in traffic, Ash, what shall we do?’

‘Go to The Swan, for a quick drink?’ he says.

‘Good idea, Ash,’ I answer.

‘Result!’ Gary says.

‘We’ll go into The Swan for a drink then, Chris. Call me when you get here.’

‘See you in a minute, Mum.’ As Gary’s voice trails off, I hear him shouting, ‘Right, everyone, he’s on his way. Into positions!’ Ash and I chat as we cross the road and I notice Mick standing outside the pub smoking a cigarette. He gives me the smallest of nods.

‘Ash, my boy!’ Mick says as he embraces Ash. ‘Nice to see you!’

We follow Mick into the bar and I hang back. I notice that the door to the conservatory is shut as Ash heads towards the bar. ‘Drink, Mum?’ he asks.

‘Oh, Ash, let’s go into the conservatory. I prefer it in there.’ I catch Mick’s eye; he’s panicking ever so slightly. ‘Really?’ he replies, and for a split second I think it’s all about to go horribly wrong. But then Ash puts his wallet back into his pocket, and turns away from the bar.

‘Go on then.’ I gesture towards the door. ‘Afghan heroes first.’

As he opens the door all that can be heard it a massive cheer and the sound of scores of party poppers exploding, the flashing of cameras and the opening bars of ‘Ain’t No Stopping Us Now’ (David Haye music as he enters the ring!) Ash looks around at me and as I see his face I worry that he might hit the deck, believing that he is back Out There and under sniper fire. But then he smiles and walks into the room. He is immediately lost in a sea of people, surrounded by his friends, who are all laughing and slapping him on the back. Everyone is happy for him, pleased to be part of this, and so very proud.

The room looks fantastic, the place has been transformed into a magical wonderland filled with light and happiness and love, and I beam from ear to ear as I watch the scene in front of me. I go up to him and give him a hug. ‘Surprise!’

He looks at me and then frowns. ‘What about Chris and the boys?’

‘Oh, Ash… It was just a ploy to get you here. You were conned!’ I laugh.

‘Mother, I will never believe a word you say to me ever again!’

And the Cheer Leaders danced and people ate and drank and smiled...and if David Haye had been there last thing he would have said is “I’m a Celebrity - Get me out of here!”

Cathy x