Posts Tagged ‘Tube’

Eat your heart out,Torchwood!

Eat your heart out,Torchwood!

Salutations and felicitations,oh seekers of the truth and collectors of the pure!

I am…

…..The Blog Dog!

But of course,you already knew that,otherwise you would not be here,seeking my wisdom….and dripping on my welcome mat.

Anyhoo,come yourself in and I’ll spin you a wee tale of adventure & derring-do.

That’s it,park your sit-upon down there,mind the cannibal,they’re everywhere,harmless really…just keep an eye on your extremities.

What’s that? Oh yes,I’ve moved my centre of operations into Mornington Crescent tube station…nobody ever gets on or off here,so I can do what I like…..welcome to the Fortress Of Blogitude,2.0!! It’s spacious,secret and has tea & coffee making facilities.It was closed for “repairs” during much of the 1990s,which was when I took the opportunity to make a few “structural alterations”.

Cuppa? Help yourself,there’s some in the pot.Will you pour one for me too…milk and four lumps,please…no sugar.

Now…let me tell you about the “little problem” I had when I moved in to Mornington Crescent.I had only that day returned from the 1960s,where I had been “filling in” in the gynaecology department at St.Bartholomew’s Hospital…they were short staffed you see,the other doctors had disappeared but they found them later,bound and gagged and stuffed in a broom cupboard.

I reckon it was medical students,or something,sniffing ether.

This station does not exist....

This station does not exist....

Anyway,I landed the Invisible Plane in the concourse of the station,and alighted.I had no trouble from the ticket collector on duty as I jumped the barrier,because Raffles is “on the staff” as it were,and helps keep real people out who may have wandered in thinking Mornington Crescent is a genuine tube station and want to go to Cockfosters.Eh? Yes it is,isn’t it? Most amusing.

I trotted down the escalator which doesn’t work,for appearances sake,and went to inspect the work that was being carried out.Several art students were hard at it,a-hammering and a-nailing and a-trying desperately to break their chains–no chance,those chains were made of case-hardened Dynastrene,the hardest substance known to man.

Deidre was busy polishing the third rail….her hair was somewhat “on end.”

“That’s it,babes” I said as I scuttled past,”I want to be able to see my face in those rails.And sort your hair out,you look a right state…and watch those arcs of electricity emanating from your extremities,you could hurt someone.”

Professor Bernardo Whiplash-Prebendary was installing the secret door to my lair,cunningly disguised as the Mornington Crescent tube roundel on the wall of the platform.She turned to greet me.

“Ah Bloggers,you complete and utter waster in time and space,there you are! Not bad this,eh…you just touch the second “O” in “Mornington” and the wall slides back to allow access to the Fortress.” She demonstrated,the wall slid back silently to reveal a dark,velvet-lined corridor; a distant light indicated the door to the inner sanctum,secured with a 21-tumbler lock.

“Good work,Prof.Fancy a cuppa and a bourbon?”

“Yes please,after you.” We crossed the threshold into the Fortress of Blogitude,and walked down the corridor towards the door.I produced my key to open the Triponic Lock.

“By the way,Bloggers,can you smell burning?”

“Oh that’s just Deidre.”

“Oh,that’s all right then.”

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INTERMISSION

THE BLOG DOG RETURNS AFTER A WORD FROM OUR SPONSORS! STAY TUNED!!

“Do you have any unwanted gold jewellery lying around the house? Then send it to me,and I’ll send you a cheque by return of post for their full market value!!! Just pop your baubles in a jiffy bag and send them to this address-

THE BLOG DOG,

THIRD CUBICLE ALONG,

GENTS TOILETS,

ST.PANCRAS STATION,

LONDON.

Unlock the potential value of your valuables today!!!

(Terms and conditions apply,cheques will not be honoured.)

*********************************************************************************

Look,that's my TARDIS !!! The brown,cupboardy thing...

Look,that's my TARDIS !!! The brown,cupboardy thing...

***BACK TO THE ACTION***

I was just drifting off to sleep in my King-sized bed,Deidre quietly simmering and still sparking a bit next to me,when I was startled by a curious sound issuing from the general vicinity of the platform.Slipping on my slippers,I crept out of the boudoir,through the study,across the piranha pool,around the aerodrome,crossed the kitchen,stopping only for a cuppa and a garibaldi,took the monorail to the main living quarters,and tiptoed to the front entrance.I opened the door,just a crack,and had a look.

I did some lookings,and thanked the Gods above or wherever they hang out,that I had taken the shortcut from the boudoir,for there,acting as if he owned the ruddy place,was a Suit!

The Suits had found my secret headquarters!!!

I was immobile with shock and fear….and worse than that,I couldn’t move either.I thought I had seen it all in my long,exciting life….I had battled the Flesh-eating Fish of Fantabulus 5 in the Wombat galaxy,arm-wrestled with Genghis Khan in the snug of the Dog & Duck…even skinny-dipped with Osama bin Laden….

But there are corners of the universe that have bred the most evil unspeakable things,and l was looking at one of them now.

It was beyond description…the words needed to do justice to its appalling appallingness have yet to be invented by some mad,deranged dictionary compiler who has recently looked up the arsehole of Hell whilst wearing a thong.

 My very soul shat its pants.

The Suit was wearing a tweed suit.

The tweed suit wasn’t too happy about that,and was desperately trying to escape the thing’s vile slimy blobbiness.

The Suit was studying what looked like a map.

Summoning every last inch of my iron will (and I have a very big iron will…just ask the missus) I opened the door wider and strode out to meet my doom.The oily pen-pusher turned to “face” me,an unctuous smile birthing,suffering a short but painful life,then dying on his noisome visage.

“Ah good evening,sir.” he smarmed “are you the owner of this umm…hee hee….secret underground lair?”

His voice chilled my very being.

“Yes I am,you hideous horror from Harrogate.How did you get in here?” I feared he may have done Raffles a damage.

“The ticket collector was in his little hut watching Doctor Who..hee hee..a David Tennant episode I think.”

He smiled a soul-fisting smile…he was enjoying himself….how did he know of my utter hatred of….”The Tennant?”

“I stopped for a cuppa and a French Fancy and had a chat while we watched the programme.Tennant is much better than that awful Tom Baker person,I think.”

!!!!!!

“He said I could go down and,as it were,”knock the mad bugger up”,so here I am…ha ha….and quite frankly,it’s a good job I came,because this whole place is just downright dangerous.Did you know there are piranha fish in your swimming pool?”

“Yes,it’s a piranha pool.”

“But someone could fall in and get eaten!”

“That’s the whole bloody point,you knob!”

“Fair enough….oh and by the way,I’ve err…ha ha…come here to twat you.Twattage should take no longer than 30 of your Earth seconds.Twattage is completely painless and lovely.Your experience of Twattage may vary.”

“Begone from my Fortress,you muppetry salesman! Don’t you know who I am ?”

“Yes.”

I waited.

I waited some more.

“Well?”

He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his waistcoat pocket,unscrewed it and consulted its contents.There was a Werther’s Original stuck to it.

“You are the Blog Dog.” he announced,and returned the paper to his pocket.

“Ah.”

“Ah indeed,you canine clod.” said a velvety voice from the void.

I turned towards the sound-a small girl was erupting from the blackness of the tunnel which led to Edgware on the Northern Line,calling at Camden Town,Chalk Farm and Belsize Park,among others.

I recognised “her” instantly,even though it had been some time since we had spent any time together.

“Marjorie Misnomer….we meet again.”

“Indeed we do.” She sidled towards me…she gave good sidle.”Umm..one seems to have been neglecting one’s children recently,hasn’t one?”

She kebabbed me with her gory gaze.

“Well…umm..I’ve been busy.”

“Busy?”

“Yes…moving house,saving the world,you know how it is,all kinds of things cropping up.Ummm how have you been,Marjorie?”

Marjorie Misnomer stared at me.Hard.

“Well you see,that’s the funny thing-I don’t know how I’ve been because you haven’t written me for bloody ages !!!!” She grabbed me by my tartan collar and hoisted me up level with with her eyes.

” I want more life….father.”

(You nicked that from Blade Runner.)

Oh hello,you’ve been quiet tonight…Deidre keeping you busy…good…that coal won’t clean itself…..

Anyhoo…

I felt something give in my nether regions,but I kept a stiff upper.”But…but…Deidre doesn’t like your stories,she prefers it when I blog about real life stuff….but I do have one of your stories in the archive,I just need to finish it…it’s a good ‘un too.” I lied.

“How is Deidre by the way?” asked Marjorie.

“AC/DC.”

“Really? How interesting.Where was I…oh yes,Tarquin was going to Twat you.” She motioned to The Suit,who had taken to picking his nose.”Tarquin,please be so kind as to bring the Twattage.”

The abomination in tweed slobbered towards me…I was going to be Marmite.My mind raced…..actually it raced quite quickly,so quickly in fact that it left my body and made a run for it-I couldn’t in all honesty blame it….it was the end of The Blog Dog.

If Tarquin didn’t get me,then Marjorie would–why had I written her so evil? She was only ever meant to be a bit of fun because I couldn’t think of anything good to blog about one evening.

Curse my boundless talent!!

“Wait!” I yelled,as Tarquin loomed over me,poised to Twat me with his Twatter.”I promise I’ll finish the third chapter of Marjorie Misnomer & The Impossible Fish!”

Marjorie halted Tarquin’s arm.”Promise on your signed photograph of Katie Price.”

The bitch!

“Alright I promise on my signed photo of Katie Price.”

“Very well,dog.I shall give you until this time next week to finish and publish it.Make sure I get all the best lines.Come along,Tarquin.”

They ambled off in the general direction of Golders Green,holding hands.

Ewww.

THE END

(Bit of a crap ending,that.)

It’s one of them “To be continued” jobbies.

(I simply cannot wait for the next part.)

Of course you can’t…now,it’s time to feed the piranhas…I think one art student will be enough,don’t want them to get too fat.

Until next time,thrill-junkies!!!

Farewell!!!

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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blogger_london_undergroundAt the weekend,I had the opportunity to revisit one of my favourite places on Earth…

The London Underground.

I was first exposed to its labyrinthine loveliness at a very young age,on a family trip to London…(a caravan was involved,but that’s another story)…and I have been hooked ever since.

And now,I have the chance to really gorge on its tunnel-based temptations thanks to my London Lovely,my gorgeous girlfriend. 🙂 (Although I would like to point out that being able to travel by Tube isn’t the main reason I visit her,honestly.)

I love it….I have no solid idea why.

Maybe it’s the way that it represents the veins and arteries of the great city of London…a city within a city,if you like.

Maybe it’s the mystery of the disused stations and tunnels….the rumours of a race of cannibals living in the darkest,forgotten corners,preying on the unsuspecting commuters who missed the last train to Cockfosters.

Cockfosters….never fails to get a laugh that one,so I’ll be repeating it at various intervals throughout this blog when I run out of jokes….which brings me on to another wonderful thing that makes the London Underground special….the station names.

Even though there has been much modernisation of the entire tube system in the last decade,the station names evoke a much older world….Mornington Crescent….Elephant & Castle….Blackfriars….Gallions Reach….Holborn.

Old London town…

underground_mapThankfully,the powers to be have resisted the temptation to update the names…taking the Bakerloo line to Katie Price Park via Posh & Becks doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.

It’s always fun to people-watch on the Tube,if you’re discreet about it.Passengers go into a kind of trance state where they’re not looking at anyone or anything in particular…you don’t want to be caught eyeing anyone up.I like to imagine what they’re thinking about,what kind of life they lead…whether they’re happy or not.london_underground_logo

One of my ambitions is to walk down the tunnels,when the trains have stopped running for the day obviously,to look for abandoned stations,said to be still manned by corpse-like conductors and translucent ticket collectors.Because I’m funny like that,I like to imagine that disused stations lead to hidden,underground (well,obviously they’re underground,but a bit more underground) nerve-centres where the government conduct secret and unholy experiments into time-travel and all that,and strange societies meet to discuss their dastardly plans for mankind.

But it’s not just me…

In the Doctor Who story,The Web Of Fear,featuring the Second Doctor played by Patrick Troughton,the Great Intelligence uses robot Yeti to try and take over the world,starting with London–one Tube station at a time.Doctor Who monsters thought small in the 60s.

The (rather excellent and highly recommended) novels of Robert Rankin feature the shadowy Ministry Of Serendipity,the entrance to which is concealed within Mornington Crescent station…and let’s face it,when was the last time anyone got off at Mornington Crescent?

There could be anything down them tunnels….anything.

You may get eaten,but it’s cheaper than a taxi.

The Tube is a great setting for horror films,too…it’s underground,claustrophobic,dark and a bit smelly….like my sock drawer.

I’m sure you’ve all seen the film “Creep”…not the best advert for Transport For London,that,but a great film….if you’re reading this on the Piccadilly Line,someone like that could be watching you right now….hunting for fresh meat to feed his family of savage,feral cannibals.An earlier film called “Deathline”,made in the 70s,actually features such a race-they live in the tunnels in complete darkness and filth,preying on commuters,unable to talk except for one chilling sentence,which echoes through the pitch-black tunnels…

“Mind the doors.”

Have a safe journey home!! 😉

Cockfosters!