Piglet Retrospective VI

 

I miss the Tube. I even miss the Northern Line. The idea of public transport being a safe way to travel seems so far away. So here is a picture of Piglet on the platform at Highgate, waiting for the train to Finchley Central. In fact, this is probably what the station looks like as you regard the photo - empty. (If people in Italy ever get vaccinated) I do hope to use the Underground again. Stay safe & well y'all.

Snow Defloration

You'd think it had never snowed before in North London. The WSL football match was cancelled, the Tube was suspended and the pavements are covered in soggy blobs of slush that will freeze in the night and make walking a nightmare in the morning. I'd forgotten where I was. Looking out of the window in the afternoon, I wondered why nobody had shovelled the sidewalk. Then I remembered that sidewalks get shovelled, but pavements do not. I'm not in Kansas any more. Or Brooklyn. Actually, it's been a couple of years since we had anything more than a flurry in Finchley. I guess we have to remember what one is supposed to do in such cases. Meanwhile, from the comfort of my faux Barcalounger, I shall check out a game of football played in New York today:

Hi Lo Armani Lining

WARNING - OLDIE RANT ALERT

I have been spoiled in the past by having a ten yard commute from my bedroom to the office. Karma is coming back to me though, as these days I must take the Northern Line tube trains to get to work. Until now, I had thought that the Manhattan underground during rush-hour was the ultimate in sardine subway experiences. No longer is that so. In the past few weeks I have been in more intimate contact with utter strangers than with people I have dated. Since I am armpit height, I have conducted an involuntary survey on the efficacy of the use of underarm deodorants. And I have developed a strong dislike of the current fashion for women to have long hair that flows freely around their shoulders, particularly if they have a tic that means they flick their hair every few seconds. Someone's going to lose an eye one of these days!

Today, however, for some strange reason (and those who know me will know how strange this is), the issue that enraged me was younger men and their pants. There are those who currently enjoy going without whilst wearing trackie bottoms. Please don't! There's nothing more unsavoury than being crushed against unrestrained dangly bits from Finchley Central to Warren Street. As for those who are kind enough to don a pair, I am most grateful. However, I have no need for visual proof of this fact. I'm happy to trust you to get dressed properly before you leave your home. And I'm really not impressed by the label on the waistband.

Actually, I was thinking about why this bothers me so much. It's a toss-up between the anxiety engendered by worrying if your trousers will fall down at any moment, and envy that you seem to be able to keep your trousers up despite having absolutely no hips whatsoever.

In the end, if the research in the picture below is accurate, I don't understand why you'd want to do it in the first place.