Friday, 2 January 2015

The UK recently shut down for a couple days then it sort of rolled and pressed the snooze button yesterday and now it's back operating at normal efficiency. Which in every meaningful and meaningless way of measuring is pretty in-efficient. The fuss about sales seems more subdued this year. That's just something I have noticed, it's not leading anywhere.

Before this period of meaningless meaning I found myself on Oxford Street. It needs sorting out.
Why isn't it pedestrianized? Why aren't all the tube stations accessible to wheelchairs? I was following my wife -who took point travelling towards Selfridges. However, I lost her when someone stepped between our two chairs. It's always fun travelling alone in a wheelchair. "Are you OK?","Are you lost?", "Are you waiting for someone?"

Artists Impression
London is possibly the most uncaring city if you are outside. Inside a building everything changes. It's probably something to do with points. Obviously there are exceptions like people not from London, or  more accurately either foreigners or people from the disenchanted North.

I kept heading somewhere but eventually I gave up and started to follow closely behind a street cleaner pushing a big flashing sucking water squirty thing that people moved out the way of.

Then I waited for about two hours for A. While I was waiting a guy with a skateboard began a discourse. About access and the common struggle we shared because he had a bit of wood with wheels on and I can't walk. Reading that back I sound petty and sarcastic. Our dialogue was nothing like that though. It's important so you understand the story that I tell you I was wearing a scarf in what I'd describe as a continental-european way. It wasn't loose it was sort of elaborately looped around and the ends passed through loops from underneath. It began with "Do you speak English?" That's why I mentioned the scarf. The scarf isn't featured anymore in this true tale. Then he talked about the skateboard catastrophe. He asked what I was doing I told him I was just waiting here for my wife then we were going to watch Paul Foot do a secret show.

He didn't know who he was so he pulled out a tablet and found some youtube videos. He enjoyed them and said bye.

The tickets cost twelve thousand and twelve points each. Which was quite worth it. Richard who worked there carried me up and down the stairs which was good of him. The show was a little longer than the 1.89  hours advertised and we almost missed the last train home but we made it. It was an excellent show despite being perched on the most uncomfortable chair I've ever had the discomfort of encountering. Often I was so absolutely entertained I forgot about the agony.

Happy next thirty-one billion, five hundred and thirty-five million, nine hundred and eighty four thousand, seven hundred and twenty six milliseconds.

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