Burns' Night and A' That

In all honesty I've never celebrated Burns' Night - despite counting myself a member of the fine Scottish folk. I blame my parents - they moved away from Ayrshire, Scotland in the '70s and settled south of the border in London, and neither of them can stand the Burns Night stuff. It's often been described to me as "a night when fat, psuedo-Scots cover themselves in tartan and recite the same boring ol' shite." Actually they say a lot more than that - the tartan thing in particular pisses them off, what with it being a tourist thing, rather than something that all Scots historically wore. My folks are big on the whole "historical accuracy" thing. Especially where Scotland's concerned.*

Jubillee and Train Rides

After a strange weekend full of union jacks, national fervour and rain, I've finally pulled myself out of my bank holiday fog - I still don't know what day it is, but I'm at work, so it must be after Tuesday. For those not in Britain it's hard to describe what happened over the four day break - a strange, en masse, coming togetherness, for a woman who was despised 15 years ago for the exact same stiff upper lippedness that is now so admired. The public are a fickle lot.

Personally I enjoyed what I saw of the boat procession on Sunday (I fell asleep in the middle) and the procession on Tuesday was truly awe inspiring. Not because of the horses - pretty though they were - but due to the huge amount of people gathered around Buckingham Palace, who spontaneously cheered, and sang "God Save The Queen" at the top of their lungs, while Her Majesty looked down from on high. Though I'm far from being a royalist, even I have to say it was jolly nice seeing the genuine affection from the crowds for our monarch, and even more so seeing the, at times overwhelmed, Queen respond to that.

On a personal note, I'm trying my hand at more drawing and painting. When I get home I'll take a picture of the little water colour I'm doing at the moment, though it's no where near finished. Recently I've found myself writing a few hundred words and then drawing, or doing a little sketch and then writing. The two seem to be feeding off each other. I only wish my daily commute was a bit shorter so I'd have more time for both.

And speaking of commute, as everyone in London likely knows, there have been considerable problems on the Central line since yesterday. Which just happens to be the line I use every day. It's truly amazing how much a burst water pipe can cock up a whole line, but that's London for you. On the way to work (via my secondary, 30 minute longer route) I looked at the crowds gathered on platforms and came up with a few lines. Below is my meagre attempt at poetry inspired by those ideas

The Never Train

Look, wait, huff, sigh,

heads down, 

waiting for the never train.

Rush, shove, cough, halt,

heads up,

here rumbles the never train.

Push, move, crush, read,

heads down,

standing on the never train.

Screech, lean, jolt, stop,

heads up,

stepping off the never train.