Friday 5 December 2008

Going underground

Whilst the world crashes around us, it's nice to know that somethings don't change. Although the office is as close to London Bridge as it is to Tower Bridge, we work in a village...not the oft spoke 'global village', but Bermondsey village...if you can read the pic, you'll see it's official. And it is true that just around the corner is our Village Hall. I like that very much, it gives us a real community feel. Although the spirit can sometimes be lacking - and I've never seen any Morris Dancing around here. Inspite being in a 'village', there have been three murders here this year - most in the national press. The owner of the local sandwich shop killed by her chef (allegedly) because she objected to him smoking pot, a shooting in a nightclub in the tunnel, and a youth knifed in a local park. Random acts of violence do make me worry excessively for the boy's future...I hope through luck or thought remains safe as he grows up.

Also photographed, is the curious drainpipe. As you can see it goes up the side of the wall in Bermondsey Street tunnel. I think it's a piece of sculpture, as it serves no purpose that I can see, and I've had a pretty close look - it's got two ends, but there is nothing attached to it the best you can do is put a ferret in one end and watch it run out the other....assuming it's dextrous enough to get past the U-bend at the top. The word 'random' scrawled next to it may be a clue.

And finally, is the road sign in the tunnel which seems to over-complicate things by suggesting we seek alternative routes as the footpath is closed...there is a perfectly fine one on the other side of the road...perhaps they can't suggest we cross over in case we get knocked over and sue...

I saw on the SkyNews web site the world's largest rubber band ball - it's about seven foot across. I think they've been cheating - some of the rubber bands look enormous. We've been doing one for the last few years by collecting the rubber bands that the postman carelessly chucks on the ground when delivering the post. Ours is the size of a generous grapefruit. But probably not as tasty.


  1. I just love that does the water get in there in the first place!! Had to laugh at Bermondsey being called a village. Even when my grandmother used to play as a little girl on the top level of Tower Bridge in the early 1900s, it was never a village. By the way, she got stabbed in the arm by a passing sailor when she was a teenager, so things don't change!!

  2. I bet you're glad you paid your council tax now when you have such delights !

  3. Blimey it's worse than Midsomer Murders in your neck of the woods.

    We have a veritable cottage industry of murderers in Oxford - they are called writers and they prove that the pen is mightier than the sword on a daily basis. I myself killed three people - including an Estate Agent - in my first short story (published in The Sixpenny Debt & Other Oxford Stories)

    Keep the boy away from excess as excess tends to be where most of the crime originates. In addition there is no rebellion in taking drugs/drinking if pretty well everyone else is doing it! Encourage him to be an individual, while obviously pretending to fit in.


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