So, there I was contemplating trains. I was doing this as I sat on the train having failed to find a ticket selling representative to sell me a ticket (given that the machine on the platform was broken, and that the ‘permit to travel’ was demanding money before giving me anything). I’d looked around for a ticket office, and found only barred windows, a door covered by metal shutters and no signs directing me anywhere else from the L-shaped corridor that led up to the platform.
After an argument/discussion with the ticket chap on the train I got the return tickets; and he told me I should look more carefully because the ticket office was open.
When I finally got back from the fun evening of bonding with work colleagues (2 cancelled trains and a fun hour of in the station later) I found that no; there are no signs for the ticket office when you come in the entrance. The only sign that *might* be present is if you go out onto the platform and walk down the platform… then there *might* be one on the door which is behind a metal shutter.
I’m reminded of Douglas Adams, they’d not really gone as far as *telling* anyone about the ticket office. And given that there are many small unstaffed stations with ticket machines only; well; I didn’t think I’d have to *hunt* for it.
Anyhow, I actually had a moderately pleasant evening. I’d’ve been more pleasant if I’d’ve got over my shyness, but it’ll come.
Today, well, today was odd. Apparently today was the worst day to visit the hospital. In fact, because the media scared everyone away today would have been a bloody brilliant day to visit the hospital. Come my departure time we’d had around 80 people through the department. We’re normally up in the hundreds. I saw 4 patients today who weren’t pre-booked in for a clinic. It was beyond weird. I actually stayed late; just so I could *do* something.
Anyhow, I got home and then I got irritated by an article masquerading as an article by ‘Feminist’ Julie Bindel, but actually by irritating woman Julie Bindel. While I’m quite happy with my body just the way it is thanks-very-much (no Karsten; short hair and a penchant for oily contraptions are not indicative of a desire to be a boy, but thanks for asking); I would suggest that being in a situation where you’re willing to undergo major surgery to make your body something you’re happy to remain in; risk being left at the margins of society and so on takes presidence over whether it upsets Julie’s concept of what maketh a woman.
While I was doing research for my dissertation I encountered quite enough information about what trans-people go through in healthcare alone to make me feel quite strongly on the subject (along with what the entire GLBT community go through in healthcare). Anyhow; I could go on at length. Every article I’ve ever read by this woman drives me nuts; and personally I think she gives Feminists a bad name. And the BBC’s shonky reporting on GLBT issues remains as shonky and annoying as ever. Anyhow.
I tend to feel if what you do hurts no-one but yourself (uh, or consenting others) then you should be allowed to get on with it. But there you go.
So, having wound down I then finished grouting the floor. It took some bullying of myself by myself to get myself up to the bathroom; but once up there I kinda slogged my way through and finished it. I now need to de-grout where there’s overgrouting that I failed to get off with the sponge at the time. That’s a tedious job. I think that real tilers do a better job of that than me, but I’m not quite sure how.
And then I curled up to read some more of The Eyre Affair. As a lover of Robert Rankin, and Douglas Adams; it was pretty likely that I’d like Jasper Fforde’s (first) book. As it is I stayed up this evening just so as I could read it. It’s excellent….and I blame Kathryn entirely for me spending the last few days reading it (well, intermittently) rather than doing work :-)
I have the best girlfriend in the entire world :)
No, I do :)