Monday, June 26, 2006

An Open Letter to TFL

I know, I know, I've been a bad little Librarian, running off and doing fun things (Foo Fighters concert, dancing to the BEST DJs ever to hatch from a Kiwi egg, yobbing it up at the Oz-Brasil extravaganza at the Clapham Grand, non stop BBQs) and then getting sick because of too much fun (five days in bed with a dreadful flu. Ah, the immune system of a tragic romantic female. How it plagues me.), and not telling you about it. But don't think I've forgotten how much you yearn for my quirky take on living in the seas over the waters over the seas (okay, so maybe my fever hasn't completely gone!)
To prove to you all how much I've been thinking of you and wishing you were here experiencing the homesickness, carb cravings, lack of good shoe shops, brilliant English summer weather, constant eating of far too much English cow (that's right, I can no longer give blood in Australia), comfort eating of Cadbury fruit and nut chocolate, obsessive baking (yes, I would too be thinner if you were fatter) and general wacky shenanigans that go with being a shy, retiring antipodean marooned on the vast island of cess that is London, I have decided to share with you my latest spur-of-the-moment fit of passion: a rant.
But not just any rant, no, fair reader. A rant that will not only give you a glimpse of how frustrating it is to traverse London as a wee young slip with nary a spine to call her own (PUN! Books! Spines! Get it?), but also how much fun it can be to have an English major that you'll never do anything useful with, except occasioinally pen (or in my case, tap) scathing letters to disgruntled public servants that will either be filed in the bin, or put in an email that you eventually receive years later as a *true* story written by an anonymous patron of the aforementioned dreadful service. SO, to get the jump on that slightly amused employee who decides to distribute my letter, I post it here for you now. Behold! An open letter to Transport For London, regarding their online travel planner facility.
*WARNING: CONTAINS EXPLICIT LANGUAGE, VIVID IMAGERY, AND A FAIR AMOUNT OF RIGHTEOUS INDIGNATION. NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN UNDER THE AGE OF SATIRICAL CONSENT OR PEOPLE EASILY OFFENDED BY THE EXTREME OVERUSE OF FIFTY-CENT WORDS.*

Dear Journey Planner Programmers/ Project Manager/ Mayor of London,
I have been using Journey Planner (JP) almost daily since I arrived in London 2 months ago, in order to get around. I have found there are some rather serious problems with it.
Firstly, there is NO WAY it takes 16 minutes to walk from SW11 1EP to Clapham Junction Station - it's more like seven, 10 if you're really unlucky with the lights and maniac buses, and/or slow. But because JP has this ridiculous 16 minute thing built in, it hardly ever tells me to take a train and tube - it generally directs me to a bus, which is usually a LOT longer than a walk-train-tube combination, and NEVER as direct as JP makes it out to be. Bus stops, for one thing, are VERY difficult for the uninitiated to locate. Especially as the bus drivers seem incapable of, or unwilling to, assist in anything more than giving you a stern glare for daring to breathe in their bus. Seriously. Welcome to London.
Another problem: JP can be prohibitively complicated. In, I assume, an attempt to make non-Londoners either never want to come back, or leave as soon as they are financially able, the program sends you on ridiculous wild goose chases for platforms and bus stops that MAY be the fastest way to go if you make every connection and know exactly where the platform/bus stop is (which JP does not tell you) and have superpowers that can get you from one side of Waterloo to the other in the blink of an eye, but are, to mere mortals, prohibitively complicated.
As it seems that most seasoned Londoners ignore JP and just use their train/tube/bus map and make it up themselves (and generally do a far superior, less confusing, and more timely job of it), I can only assume JP's biggest users are tourists, and your goal is to confound, bewilder and alienate. I'm sorry to say JP falls down SEVERELY in the tourism department, that is if your goal is to help rather than alienate people who come to your city to spend large amounts of foreign cash. If your goal is the latter, then please continue. You’re doing a stellar job. I have never experienced such a convoluted way of making a - relatively - simple system such a frustrating and – yes, I’ll say it - hideous experience.
You need another example? No problem: JP told me it would take an hour and a half to get to a job interview across London. It didn't take me anywhere near Zone 1, even though that would have been direct and I had to pay for that as I was going from South West Zone 3 to North West Zone 6; I had to transfer five times; I allowed two and a half hours and was ten minutes late. I then figured out my own way home purely from the tube and train maps in my A-Z, and it took less time than JP had quoted me to begin with. And that was on the Picadilly line, stopping for breaks every couple of minutes, and then the District, which has to be the slowest line known to subway travellers worldwide. I transferred three times and was home in less than an hour and a half. HOW CAN YOUR PROGRAM NOT FIGURE THIS OUT???
PLEASE, for the love of your fellow mankind who was not born with the tube map etched in their brain or on a TShirt, PLEASE fix these ridiculous problems. I've gotten so I have to TRICK the stupid JP into giving me the answer I want.
And guess what, that bus it suggested I take to Tooting that takes 40 minutes and comes every 8 minutes (which 8 minutes, I wonder?) will - yes, that's right - take far more time than the train and then tube I could take in its place. And as I know it doesn't take me over a quarter of an hour to walk to the train station from my address (seriously, did you time someone on a walker frame? Or a seriously drunk person who kept stopping every five paces to throw up and/or urinate?), I know I can be there in less than 40 minutes and won't need to suffer the nausea brought on by a) waiting for a bus or b) travelling on a bus. While I feel I have learnt how to somewhat "cheat" the JP system, by ticking or unticking boxes, and putting in stations instead of postcodes (oh, and your postcodes could match up to the ACTUAL ones too, that would be useful. Use streetmap.co.uk - everyone else does), I can't see how this works well for anyone, and I believe it needs a serious overhaul.
The forms are good, I'm VERY glad you have an advanced search screen, but the data it retrieves is faulty and was obviously not written by someone (or thing) that understands how London Transport - that is, the experience of it, rather than your organisation - actually works. And seeing as I doubt you have access to an artificially intelligent computer program that has experienced the joys of travelling in London, why not use you staffs' expertise? Or your patrons? Maybe if you had two options: "the algorithm suggests" and "Greg from Notting Hill suggests" it would work much better. I understand this may be prohibitive, but think outside the box, people. Because what you got IS broke, please fix it [sic].
Thank you for your attention, and allow me to complement you on an otherwise quite amazing public transport system. You ain't New York, but you're still damn fine. Get a computer program that reflects that.
Kind regards, the Travelling Librarian

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

Oxford Photos 3/05/06

Taking it easy while punting down the Isis (the name they give to the Thames in Oxford). Chad is at the helm.


Then after lunch...


Mike (Spoony) lets the beer soak in while I struggle with the pole. I'm telling you, I'll need more alcohol next time. One wine spritzer does not an expert puntswoman make.

After punting...
While the others are at the pub, I head off on a typical library-nerd hunt for the Bodleian. After much confusion,

I photograph the building I was told was the Library (above)...

...and the building I thought was the Library (left).
Turns out they both are (thanks to the chatty woman on the train from Victoria to Clapham Junction who cleared up the mystery that no-one in Oxford could). Apparently there's a third (modern and probably not pretty) building that is also part of the Library, and there are tunnels underneath.
Will have to go back for the tour!

Pretty, aren't they?

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

Photos!

So I finally figured it out... sortof. As I really have no idea what I'm doing, I'll have to do another post for Oxford. Here's a couple from Bath.


Me and Bath, when visiting Kara, 20/05/06.















At the Roman Baths, 20/05/06.

Celebrity stalking fun!

So I don't know if you've picked up that between the punting in Oxford, trips to Bath and Cheltenham, and getting occasionally slaughtered here in London town, I haven't had much to do lately. The last couple of days have seen me invigilating (read: supervising) at some exams as a temping job, which has got to be one of the most boring jobs ever, while I wait for my Home Office clearance. But when I'm not living the hedonistic lifestyle of an (almost) late twenties librarian newly arrived to London (I know, I'm sooo adventurous!), I spend a great deal of time with my dearly resurrected lappy, checking out our favourite websites and generally enjoying one of my favourite activities: celebrity stalking.
Granted, I've never actually stalked a celebrity, and don't really care to do it in person (hiding in bushes and going through rubbish are yet to make an appearance in my personal rendition of "Raindrops on Roses"), but I love, love, love that the Internet makes it so easy for me to do it from afar. I won't regurgitate the snarkily presented news gossip that you can amuse yourself for hours with at this great site, however I will direct your attention to a particularly disturbing piece of media I came across here:
Paris Hilton has made a video.
Unlike the more famous Paris Hilton video, it does not involve her having relations with Brenda's ex-husband, but rather - and I use this word in the loosest possible sense - singing along to a backing track of what I can only assume is her own voice and, I dearly hope, her own lyrics. I hesitate to watch this video too often, as I'm sure the annoying "reggae-inspired" backbeat will get lodged in my cerebral cortex and cause a tumour later in life, but I'm sure many analyses of the lyrics will appear on the web in a very short time.
With gold such as "I don't find too many guys/ that treat me like you do/ those other guys all wanna take me for a ride/ but when I walk they talk of suicide", I'm sure there will be dissertations on it coming out of pop culture courses in no time. I predict that a particularly enthusiastic psych major will endeavour to prove the link between being dumped by Paris Hilton and the recent rash (no pun intended) of C and D-list celebrity male suicides.
Another line: "if you show me real love baby/ I'll show you mine" demonstrates to me Paris' pure ironic genius. Personally I've never met Paris, I've certainly endeavoured on a daily bases to not show her any real love, and I've seen hers more times than I can count.
But the truly wonderful thing about this video is the dancing. If it wasn't so obviously comprised of her best drunken dance moves and she wasn't so obviously in love with herself it'd almost be sweet, as there's an element of lusty-teenage-girl-dancing-in-her-underwear-in-front-of-the-mirror-with-a-KenDoll to her "choreography" (I never realised how talented Britney was until I watched this video. Respeck, Spears).
Now I believe, thanks to this video, that the old adage is true: I will never forget Paris. No matter how much binge drinking I may do to try and wipe her from my mind, she's now there for good.
Librarian, with scarred retinas, out.

Monday, June 05, 2006

A punting we shall go!

So when my new flatmate Mike (there are two: this one goes by many other suitably Aussie names, including Colesy, MC, and Spoony) said casually to me one night last week that he was going punting in Oxford on Saturday and would I like to come, I pretty much just took in the "Oxford"and "bunch of people" parts of the conversation, and figured it sounded like a fun day out, and the reason I'd moved across the world. My lack of understanding as to what was actually involved was probably helped by my serious lack of comprehension as to what "punting" actually is. I think if I'd stopped to think about it I might have thought it had something to do with horse races, but as I said, I didn't actually stop to think about it, I just signed up.
So this is how I found myself up at 7am on Saturday morning, after quite a big night out on Friday, heading towards a fun-filled day of sun, sans a hat or any sunscreen. I did, however, have my umbrella. I learn quickly, me ;-)
Unfortunately - well, fortunately really because it was a beautiful day - England decided it wasn't feeling very British on the weekend, and decided to emulate, as much as it possibly could with such poor resources, Queensland in about October. Therefore, it was an absolutely perfect day - sun shining, hardly a cloud in the sky, and oh, did I mention we were punting in Oxford?
I understand if you don't quite get the significance of this - I certainly didn't until I arrived - but punting (as explained here by the wiki - there's a nice picture of a guy celebrating his graduation with a bit of heave-ho there too) is quite the English tradition, especially in well-to-do places like Oxford and Cambridge where they have nice little creeks. Basically, a bunch of people (I saw entire families in the one punt) cram into a flat-bottomed boat and alternately relax (the lucky passengers) or struggle (the designated punter) with a most unusual method of transportation whereby the chump with the pole propels the boat along by stabbing the creek bed with said pole. If you do it right, you can get to the pub down the way in about 15 minutes. If you're a bunch of Aussies who've forgotten hats, coordination and (egads!) beer, you will probably take over an hour. (We did manage to get some sunscreen as some of our party - girls, of course - had backpacks filled with useful stuff - including changes of clothes. They obviously had a vague notion of what punting involves!)
Once you get to the pub, however, the pain of punting is all worth it (or the joy is increased if you've been lucky enough to be a passenger) as you're presented with Pimm's; a modern take on traditional pub fare (my steak sandwich came in flatbread); and a massive lawn where the boys can enjoy kicking the footy around and throwing frisbees at girls in bikinis, and the girls can enjoy watching the boys get drunk and make idiots of themselves. Once the revelling ceased (we spent about four glorious hours at The Victoria Arms), it was the girls' turns to punt down the river (the boys were a tiny bit pissed). Luckily for us, the current was now in our favour, however unluckily for this girl (and her boy passengers), I am terrified of
a) falling in the water
b) losing my punting pole
c) looking like a complete girl by doing either a) or b)
and therefore
d) scream like a girl a lot, and although I avoided both a) and b) I still managed to do c). *sigh* Once I'd taken us around in circles and through a number of seriously aggressive bushes, Spoony took over, and his practice earlier, coupled with 3 pints of lager, got us back to the docks in record time. Obviously I didn't have enough practice or enough to drink to perfect my punting style, but I'll be planning a similar outing to Cambridge where I will attempt to rectify both of the identified shortages (and take a change of clothes just in case).
After the punting (I don't think I've described how wonderful it really was - a perfect day - I really need to figure out where and how to load my pictures so you can see just how pretty), the gang went, quite uncharacteristically, to a pub. As pretty much the only sober member of the party, and feeling like it might be a bit of a waste of such a beautiful day in England in a situation that I could experience back at the RE (they're a lovely bunch of folks they all went to Uni in Brisbane, so there was a nice feeling of familiarity there), I took myself on a self-guided walking tour of the Oxford colleges. As any one who has met me knows, my sense of direction is only hampered by maps (pesky things, they're never going in the direction I am), so I randomly walked, and I must say, if I followed my gut (even if it told me to walk down a dodgy looking alley) it got me where I wanted to go (the Bodleian Library), whereas when I tried to follow the maps kindly placed about by the Oxford tourist haters, I ended up in a cow paddock (click on the Christ Church Meadow link on the left - for some reason it refuses to stay stable although you don't need authorisation).
After a couple of hours of trudging around in my thongs truly living up to the Library Nerd title my new friends had firmly crowned me with during my obligatory "defend the profession" conversation at lunch (hey, they asked), I made it back to the pub, where I amused myself watching the plastered guys around me say and do hilarious things, and chatted to the girls about life in the UK, and started to feel like maybe I'd get the hang of it here after all. Just give me a few more perfect days punting in Oxford, and next time I want cucumber and mint in my Pimm's. (BTW, for you apostrophe Nazi's out there, and you know who you are KATE, it's correct because it was Pimm's recipe, so therefore he owns it, and all of that associated malarkey.)
Librarian out.

Thursday, June 01, 2006

Land of the TARDIS

Sick of sitting in my cute, tastefully decorated room reading news about people I will never meet I decided to eat as much as I could (so I wouldn't get hungry and have to buy food - ah economising in London) and head out. Not quite feeling up to sightseeing, as my Lonely Planet and I still haven't made up, I decided to take myself to see my first movie since leaving Oz. Holding firm to my principles and refusing to add to the gross "international" profits of my least favourite minor American celebrity, I decided to show some patriotism and support Jean-Luc instead. Once I arrived at the Southside Shopping Centre in nearby Wandsworth, I was confronted with the surprisingly difficult task of finding the front door. After having walked around part of said shopping centre in search of an entrance, I wondered where they fit the 14 screen cinema they'd so modestly advertised (if there's one thing the English don't like to do it's boast). After locating the entrance I was presented with the most depressing shopping setting I think I've ever experienced. I guess developers don't have anything better to do than sink £72 million into an ugly 1960s structure. It went something like this: phone shop, empty shop, phone shop, placard advertising said shopping centre covering empty shop... ad nauseum. Eventually there was some variety, in the form of the usual suspects: Boots, Superdrug, cheap clothing stores, and yes, everyone's favourite Poundland, with a caption that reads "yes! everythings £1" [sic]. After walking for some time through the insanely wide corridors that were presumably built to accommodate the gazillions of Londoners that will flock to Southside every Saturday to buy new mobile phones, I realised that the shopping centre was far bigger inside than it appeared from the outside, and that in fact the creative geography so prevalent in SciFi is in fact a reality here in the Queen's land. Maybe that's what happened to the £72 million. If only they'd use both the TARDIS technology and the money somewhere where it would be of use, like the tube. As for public transport in London, well that's a topic worthy of a post in and of itself, and for another day. Librarian out.