Jackie drove me to New Milton For me to catch the train to Waterloo for a lunch date with Norman. The train was 16 minutes late, and the station toilet out of order. The reason for the delay was ‘a line-side fire’. Such was my discomfort that I felt inclined to offer to help extinguish it.
The arrival into Waterloo added five more minutes to the delay, which meant that decanted passengers fairly sped along the platform.
These barriers must be negotiated by passengers wishing to enter or leave the Underground. This is effected by inserting a ticket which may or may not be returned to you. Sometimes they don’t work. This tends to leave customers rather less than gruntled.
Outside, in Waterloo Road, buses tried their luck with other road users.
Underneath the station a gentleman found enough seclusion to employ his mobile phone.
The woman in the centre of this shot was in such a hurry that she had trouble keeping her feet on the ground. (You may wish to enlarge this one).
In the barriers around the building works opposite these people waiting for the traffic lights to allow them to cross, can be seen viewing windows.
Peering through one revealed this scene, complete with statutory fag sticking to lips.
Across the road, on the paving alongside Emma Cons Gardens, this photographer’s subject was not what it would seem. She was examining the picture she hd just taken of The Old Vic opposite.
On the corner behind the young lady, a gentleman later gave a literal meaning to the expression ‘nose in the trough’.
This mirror-writing version of the Young Vic posters in The Cut was the result of focussing on a window opposite.
A little further along this thoroughfare a cyclist was attending to his steed outside Evans, which is a long-standing supplier of various types.
I normally spend some time over my street shots, but today, because of the transport delays, I was very much on the move, as were most of my subjects.
Norman and I enjoyed a tasty meal at Tas, the Anatolian restaurant in The Cut. My choice was mixed seafood casserole followed by baklava. We shared a bottle of the house red wine.
Jackie collected me at Brockenhurst on my return journey, and drove me home.
I received a text from O2 telling me that my direct debit could not be implemented and asking me to ring my bank who would explain what the problem was. I did so. The bank staff informed me that with a new direct debit the reference number would be changed and that only O2 could implement the debit. The O2 text gave me a number to ring once I had learned the problem. That number was, of course, a machine, giving me only two options, one of which was irrelevant, and the other requiring me to type in my bank details. Just that ‘your bank details’. This message was repeated. I couldn’t get off it, so I politely stated, into the void, ‘I AM NOT PREPARED TO DO THAT’. I then tried the chat line and got referred back to the text. I said I’d visit an O2 outlet at my own convenience, which might take a while.
The usual survey form ensued.
After my splendid lunch I had no need for further sustenance this evening.