London Bus Routes

Once back in London, my wife and I decided to travel by bus only, no Overground or Underground; too much jostling, lots of steps and the pace was too fast for a pink cast and crutches.  Besides, we weren't seeing much of London traveling underground.

Credit:David Heath

The bus stop was just 20 yards from the apartment complex driveway and once seated, except when we changed buses, we didn't need to move.  We caught the 276 to Hackney Central Station.  We then changed to the 38.  That combination seemed to get us wherever we wanted.

Before our visit to the Victoria and Albert Museum on Tuesday, we jumped off the 276 at the Homerton University Hospital.  They cut open my wife's cast from toe to knee on one side.  This was in preparation for the flight home on Friday.  They also attached velcro closures to allow for expansion during the flight.  We jumped back on the 276.  Noon had slipped by long before and there was still a long trip to the V&A.  We needed to change bus one more time to another bus that took us to the front door of the museum.


We didn't spend much time at the V&A, it was near closing time when we arrived.  We had only an hour or so to wander the museum.  A museum attendant kindly offered us a wheel chair, which we used even though one of the tires was a bit low on pressure, making an annoying squishy-squeaky sound on the polished marble floor.

Power of Making from Victoria and Albert Museum on Vimeo

We visited the exhibit "The Power of Making".  This ape fabricated using wire hangers was at the entrance to the exhibit.  I was impressed.  Then we wandered around the gift shop until the closing announcement, without a chance we could afford even a tiny trinket .


Upon leaving we walked to Brompton Rd.  The road on which Harrod's is located.  We were hungry and I checked out all the cafes and restaurants along that short strip of Brompton while my wife sat on a bus stop bench.

I chose Nero Cafe across Brompton and a bit towards the V&A from Harrod's.  I collected some cold items from a refrigerated case, took them to the counter and the employees warmed them.  I guess by the look on the employees' faces, I had too much food.  That amount of food must have had American written all over it.  Of course, the L.L.Bean logo on my fleece 1/4 zip must have helped with the Am ID.

Credit:Jtrulez15@wikipedia.org

When we finished eating, it was time to get home to put up the feet.  There was one problem, the 38 didn't run along Brompton.  I only knew the 38.  Again, my wife remained on a bus bench while I went off to figure out which bus would get us to the 38 route.  I went into the Underground and asked a ticket seller.  He didn't know.  I asked several people waiting for buses, they only knew their own route home.  I asked a bus driver of a loading bus, he didn't know.  I was beginning to panic.  Here we were in a country that spoke English and I couldn't find anyone with the knowledge we needed.  I also thought my wife was probably very uncomfortable on that bus stop bench after my extended time seeking knowledge.  I returned to the bus stop bench and my wife. She encouraged me to ask another bus driver for help.  I resisted thinking bus drivers just didn't care about my plight.  My mind began to think of the expense of a taxi for the long trip home.  I caved and waved down a bus.  That is what you need to do if you want a bus to stop.   You need to signal a bus, because there are several bus routes that service each bus stop.

© Lawrence Living

The bus stopped and I asked the driver if his bus would get us to the 38.  He waved us on.  He also let us know when to get off for interchange with the 38.  We were very thankful to that bus driver.  His small bit of kindness seemed like a miracle to us.

Once on the 38 we felt as if we were home.  We settled in for the ride to Hackney Central, the change to the 276 and on to our London digs where we would put up our feet and watch some British TV.  What more could we ask for?

©Damyon T. Verbo - all rights reserved

Train to London - Breakfast

I had a lovely night's sleep in Grimsby.  I packed my CPAP, my overnight bag and my camera, showered and went downstairs.  I accepted some toast, jam and tea from my gracious son's-in-law mother.  We then made our way to Grimsby Town station.


I had hoped I would find time to photograph Steel's Corner House Restaurant for this blog.  It didn't work out that way.  The train arrived soon after we did and I was on my way to Doncaster.


I changed trains at Doncaster making sure I sat in the dinning car.  This car had only a service bar with an attendant.  I sat at the closest table in order to get some photographs.  I was sitting on the western side of the car.  The light pouring through the window was indirect and soft.  I went to the food service bar and looked over the offerings.  All the food was cellophane wrapped.  Some items were displayed on a wire rack on my side of the counter.  I asked for coffee, an egg sandwich and I picked a piece of fruit cake from the wire rack.  I paid for everything and waited for the sandwich to be warmed.

I brought the food to my table and started to eat the sandwich.  Although the attendant had the sandwich in an oven for quite awhile it was still cold in the center.  I have eaten cold food before.  I worked outside for thirty-four years.  The homemade lunches I took to work were mostly eaten cold.  I had no way of heating them.  I continued eating the, cold in the center, egg sandwich.


The sandwich was better than I expected.  Let me try and read the label to you -Free range scrambled egg, some kind of tasty (foreign sounding) cheese, red pepper, tomato and some kind of sauce,  possibly bechamel on a grilled ciabatta roll.  It was good.  


It was time for photographs.  I arranged the half eaten sandwich with its wrapper and the coffee cup on the table for a photograph.  A portion of the blue bag holding my CPAP can be seen on the right.

I also grabbed a photograph of the service bar and two attendants.  The near attendant pushed the stainless steel cart through the aisles and completed his trip in the food service area, securing the cart against the wall.


I arrived at King's Cross, took the Underground to the Overground to Hackney Wick station and then walked past the spot where my wife fell, to my daughter's apartment.  It was Monday morning and my daughter and her husband were back to work.  It was just us visitors, home alone, together.


©Damyon T. Verbo - all rights reserved

Return to Grimsby - Darthly I Slept

I was on my way back to Grimsby via train just five hours after leaving Cleethorpes via car.  I somehow left behind my CPAP at Ginnies Guesthouse and I needed it to sleep through the night.  I took the Overground from Hackney Wick station to Highbury & Islington station, change to the Victoria Underground Line to King's Cross / St. Pancras station, then up to King's Cross railway station for the train to Leeds, changing in Doncaster and then onto Grimsby Town station.


This was my first time to traverse the Underground/Overground system alone.  Without a map, I might say.  All I had were the printed maps on the inside walls of the trains.  In a short time and without a hitch, I arrived at King's Cross railway station, made my way through some construction at the station to the ticket counter and bought the least expensive return ticket.  


It was not like I was in a country where a foreign language was spoken.  For the most part we were speaking the same language, English.  Well my English and their English sounded different, but they were close.  When I asked questions there seemed to be some time lapse before an answer was delivered.  Maybe those queried didn't understand me.  Maybe they couldn't believe I was so dumb to be asking such a question and had to take a second to qualify my level of seriousness before being played a fool.  Or maybe their civil servant attitude was like those here in the US and they need to keep up an appearance of disdain.  For whatever reason, it took sometime for me to ascertain which train to take and at which station I would change trains for Grimsby.  Once I had my answers, I needed to find the track number for my departing train.

King's Cross Station Departure Board

King's Cross station was busy.  It was Sunday evening, the school break was over and students were headed back to school.  I found the departure board that showed the trains, their platforms and if they were running on time.  I wanted to get to Grimsby as soon as possible, so I chose to take the next train out, the 20:35 to Leeds.  There was no track number on the board when I first joined the crowd watching the departure board, ten minutes before the train departed.


As I stood in the crowd, I just knew they all were waiting for the same track number reveal, I decided I needed to get my photojournalist face on.  I had my camera and the overnight bag that held the flash equipment I had forgotten the first time I was on my way to Grimsby.  I pulled the camera from its bag.  I captured the photograph above of he departure board.  I knew I would be writing about that moment and a picture was needed for the post.  The track number was announced and I needed to get on the train to Leeds.  I immediately put away my camera along with my photojournalist face.  

I was now alone.  Just me, myself and I.  My movements were not hampered by any dependents.  On the platform, I moved like a cat, quietly, quickly, sure-footedly sidestepping platform hogs, passing slow moving couples and backpack carrying chattering students.  I took long strides at a quick pace.  I passed the last car which was the first car on the tracks for first class passengers.  Then past the dinning car and the next car and so on until I became afraid the train might leave without me.  I jumped onto the second car from the front of the train.  The signs on the windows declared it a quiet car.  Quite car?  I haven't been on a train since I went to the New York World's Fair in 1965.  I don't remember quite cars back then.  No, I am wrong.  I was on a steam locomotive powered train in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania for an eight mile round trip, maybe, twenty-five years ago.  There was no quite car on that trip, either.  The whistle and chugging made sure of that.  I looked around and decided that with most people reading, wearing headphones or ear buds, I should just sit back and relax.  I quietly enjoyed the reflection of the interior of the car in the window glass with its pitch black countryside backdrop interrupted by piercing lights of train stations and mall parking lots.


Being near the front of the train, it wasn't long before a train employee made her way to our car.  She was pushing a stainless steel cart like those flight attendants pushed in the aisles of airplanes.  This train attendant was hawking food.  Snacks, drinks, sandwiches.  I declined when she came along side and offered her wares.  I was kind of surprised by her appearance and at the start of the trip, wasn't ready to eat.


As the hours wore on, I heard a rumbling sound coming from my stomach.  I hadn't eaten since we stopped at the OK Diner north of Stamford on the A1.  I wasn't sure how many cars the food cart attendant had traversed but, now I was hungry.  I thought I might visit the dinning car.  I put that thought out of my head.  I didn't feel like collecting my belongings and bumping my way back three or four cars to a cellophane wrapped sandwich with one piece of meat and one piece of cheese between two pieces of bread at an inflated price.  So I just kept seated and took in the sights and sounds of the quiet car.


The car wasn't totally quiet.  There were two women talking behind me somewhere in the car.  Talking loudly enough that I knew one husband's name and that the other loved Maggie Smith in Downton Abbey.  I thought about leaving my seat and asking the women to lower their voices.  Then I visualized a fat, sixty year old, Yank bouncing off the seats on my way towards the sound of their voices.  I bruise easily and at my age, bones take a long time to heal, if they heal at all.  I wiped the vision out of my head.  I just listened to their inane conversation and waited for the announcement, "Doncaster, next stop."


At 22:00. I disembarked the Leeds train onto the Doncaster platform.  I thought I made a mistake telling Francis at Ginnies that I would be around to collect my CPAP once I arrived in Grimsby Town.  By the time I got to Ginnies it would be near mid-night.  I needed my machine to breath.  I needed it tonight.  I began to feel badly about my late arrival.

The train to Grimsby was more of a commuter train than the Leeds train.  It looked more like the Overground cars, fitted with side facing seats as well as seats facing forwards and rearwards.  This train moved slower.  The stations were closer.  The cars were noisier.  I was feeling tired.

Source:http://www.carling.com/

The train arrived at a well lit Grimsby Town station.  Awaiting was my son's-in-law father.  I was comforted to find he had visited Ginnies soon after I called and collected my CPAP.  I was relieved I wouldn't be waking up the guests at Ginnies or keeping Francis awake past his bedtime.  Once at the house my son's-in-law father made me a sandwich which I washed down with a Carling beer.  I was shown to the guest bedroom where my son had slept the two nights before.  I plugged in the CPAP and I was asleep within a few minutes, breathing effortlessly, sounding like Darth Vader.




©Damyon T. Verbo - all rights reserved

Back to London - Breathless

All our luggage was in the lobby of Ginnie's Guesthouse.  Only four of us for the car ride back to London because my son was on his way to visit The University of York via train.  My son-in-law and I loaded the car with my son-in-law bringing out the last bag.  I squeezed into the back seat, next to the bags.  My wife had the middle section of seats to herself with her right leg and her pink cast spread out over the seats next to her.  My son-in-law drove with my daughter next to him.  We were off.  


Our route was via the A46 around Lincoln to the A1 down to London with a piece on the A16 fitting in there somewhere.  The countryside along the road reminded me of Lancaster County here in Pennsylvania; green rolling hills with plenty of farms.

Somewhere near Stamford we stopped at an OK Diner.  The diner looked like an American diner from the exterior with its stainless steel and neon OPEN sign.  The OK sign reminded me of the old OK used car signs of Chevrolet dealers. 

The interior wasn't quite like a typical American diner.  I didn't see any counter.  The center of the ceiling was much to high.  It reminded more of a TGIFs.  The decor was trying a bit hard for '50s US nostalgia.


We all ordered off the menu.  The wait was a bit long.  They seemed to be short on staff.  The food was good at a reasonable price, for London.  All that was missing for an authentic US diner was American dialects and diner language being yelled to the cook, like:"One hockey puck, run it through the garden, fries in the alley, cheese'um and put wings on that." 


Once back on the road again, it didn't seem long before we were back at the apartment in Hackney Wick.  We unloaded all the bags outside the door to the apartment building.  My son-in-law was in a hurry to return the car before another day's rent was added to the total.  The three of us were left to drag everything upstairs to the apartment.  The pink cast on my wife's foot handicapped her, so it was really just my daughter and I to lug the bags.

Outside the door

Once everything was in the apartment, I brought our bags into the bedroom we were using.  At that point I realized my CPAP bag was missing.  I returned outside to where we unloaded the car to see if it was there.  It wasn't outside.  I went back upstairs and searched the whole apartment.  I couldn't find it.  My daughter called her husband to look in the car before he turned it in at the rental office.  It wasn't in the car, either.


I have been using the CPAP for near ten years now.  Before I was tested for sleep apnea, my blood pressure was chronically and dangerously high.  My doctor was unable to lower my blood pressure and my dosage of medications was at their limits.  After wearing the CPAP for a few months, my blood pressure began to drop.  Today, if I fell asleep without the CPAP I usually awaken after a very short period with my heart racing and pounding.  The kind of pounding I can see.  There is no way I can sleep uninterrupted and healthily without the CPAP.

Google Maps

My last guess was I left it at Ginnies Guesthouse, two hours away by car.  I called Ginnies.  It was there in Cleethorpes.  I told Francis, the owner, I would be up that very night to collect it.  I called my son-in-law's parents appraised them of my situation and requested I spend the night with them.  Everything was settled.  I would travel back to Grimsby by train that night.  My son's-in-law parent's would collect me at the Grimsby Town train station.  We would then go to pick up the CPAP at Ginnies.  I would sleep at my son's-in-law parents' house and return to London in the morning on the train.

I checked to be sure I had my credit card and off I was to King's Cross Station.

©Damyon T. Verbo - all rights reserved

A Taste of Philadelphia In Cleethorpes?

             

© Owen Dunn

© Owen Dunn

My son, who was staying at my daughter's in-laws' house, wanted to visit The University of York.  He was to take the train from Cleethorpes and meet us later in London.  When the car arrived my daughter stayed with my wife while the guys drove to the train station.  The train station is along the road next to the sea.  The station looked as though it had a facelift in the recent past and was looking good.

  

 Source:Frith Collection

Also along that road was a group of buildings that seemed to be underutilized.  They may be the very same buildings in the 1955 photograph to the left.  Inside there was one large room that looked as though a flea market was operating.  Driving past these buildings I remarked to my son-in-law,"What they need here is some good Philadelphia food: steak sandwiches, hoagies, hot roast pork, hot roast beef, soft pretzels, funnel cakes and hot dogs."  

                         

Source:DoWopUSA

Source:DoWopDiner

Make it look like the Wildwood boardwalk in South Jersey.": that is New Jersey, USA.  My son-in-law, having visited us several times before marrying my daughter, agreed.  He thought that would be a real winner.  At least street food of Philadelphia.

Pat's King of Steaks, South Philadelphia

Geno's Steaks, South Philadelphia

I am ready for a change.  All I need now is an angel with the money.  Pat's, Gino's and Tony Luke's eat your hearts out.  Cleethorpes get ready for a taste of Philadelphia.


©Damyon T. Verbo - all rights reserved

Are Bird Feeders Selfish?

Is it a selfish motivation to put out a bird feeder?  For many years I felt birds should fend for themselves.  They should forage for their own food.  Isn't that the natural way?  I felt providing food for birds, even in a severe winter, was akin to giving a beggar money, making them dependent on handouts.  I feared I was doing the birds an injustice, making them lazy, shiftless and demoralizing them.  As I age, I have changed by thoughts on the matter.  My reasons may be selfish, but I want birds in my garden. 

Available from Lowe's via mail order item# 335583

My youngest daughter gave me a bird feeder, including bird food, for Christmas.  I had my eye on this feeder for some time.  It has a central hopper for seed and four holders on two sides for suet cakes.  I filled the hopper with sunflower chips. 

Available at Lowe's item # 215668

Lots of birds like sunflower seeds, like titmice, chickadees, finches, wrens, nuthatches, cardinals and bluejays.  I placed a suet cake in the feeder.  The suet will attract woodpeckers.   I then hung it outside my breakfast room window.  As I stood admiring my new feeder, feeling good inside, I wondered how long it would take for the birds to find the feeder.

I turned to my son, who was standing in the kitchen, and asked, "How long do you think it will be before the birds find the feeder?"


"Three weeks," was his reply.


Three weeks?  I was hoping it would only take three days.  


One week later, early morning New Years Day, I sat at my iMac writing this blog.  I looked out the second floor window into my back yard.  I saw several crows on the grass.  They were the first birds, of any kind, I saw since I started to look for birds on Christmas day.  I hadn't seen birds in the trees, bushes or even flying in the sky, until these crows.  I thought, maybe, there was some sinister force at work.  Some animal eating all the birds.  Or maybe, some kind of cataclysmic natural disaster about to happen, that only wild animals could sense.  More rationally, I was beginning to fear my timing was too late in the season for this feeder.  I began to doubt the value of my actions.  The mercury level began to fall on my confidenc-o-meter.


Late that afternoon, I had my first visitor to the feeder. 

Damned squirrels!  They will do anything to get food.  I have seen them chew through plastic feeders, leap 20 feet from an overhanging tree branch to a small suspended feeder to get to food.  Squirrels are tenacious critters.  This feeder is all metal.  I think it will survive the squirrels. 

Source:Junco

The next Friday, I was at home all day.  I noticed several birds near the feeder, but none at the feeder.  I saw several Juncos and two House Finches, and a woodpecker in a nearby tree.  

Source:All About Birds

I don't think I will ever see Juncos at the feeder.  They only eat off the ground or a low platform feeder.  I don't know how they find enough food.  I didn't see the House Finches at the feeder, but I may have startled them from the feeder when I approached the window.


Whilst looking on the web for bird images for this post, I found a site called Project Feeder Watch.  They have a program for ordinary citizens to count birds at their backyard feeders and then report their numbers to Cornell University for statistical reasons.  Their counting season is from the second week in November through the first Friday in April.  Although I put the bird feeder out almost six weeks later than the beginning of feeder watch season, I joined and will receive tallies and member supplies within the next three weeks.  That will leave me all of Feb and March to count birds and add my findings to the data base at Cornell.  I will enjoy adding my data.


I want birds in my garden.  I enjoy watching birds.  I think they are beautiful.  For those reasons, I put out a bird feeder.  Some people may call me selfish.  I can live with that.


©Damyon T. Verbo - all rights reserved

MacGyver Gadget Dud in Grimsby

My MacGyver gadget didn't work the way I planned.  The flash diffuser made from a 3x5 card just didn't make the grade.


If you remember, I left my flash equipment, Sunpak 611, Quantum Battery + and the LumiQuest Softbox III, behind .  It was still in London (two hours away by car), in my daughter's apartment, on top of the wardrobe in the bedroom we were using.  So I improvised a diffuser for my on-camera's pop-up flash.

                    

      

The four images above were exposed using the 3x5 card.  If you look closely at the two images on the right, you will see the shadows have low contrast.  However, the images captured with the 3x5 card were underexposed by at least two stops.  The two on the left are directly out of the camera; no post-production work.  The two on the right had changes made in post-production.  

             

As the evening wore on, I discarded the homemade diffuser and used the pop-up flash without modification.  Once I discarded the 3x5 card the images were better exposed.  As expected they had dark shadows rimming the figures, as seen in these images.  I not sure if MacGyver's gadgets worked at 100% efficiency, mine didn't. 

I always say, "If you never make any mistakes, you are not taking any chances."

©Damyon T. Verbo - all rights reserved

English Wedding Reception- Grimsby

We arrived at the golf club after a short ride from Louth.  The reception was on the second floor of the clubhouse overlooking the course.  There was a lovely view from the deck.


The room was a good size.  There were round tables from one end to the other.  Enough open area was left for a small dance floor and standing at the bar.

The disc jockey set up his equipment at the far end of the room.

He had cases and cases of CDs.  Duct tape was the language he spoke.
  
Blinking lights was the story he told.  

Bulbs the size of those on the beach in Cleethorpes.  

Power Play was his name.

                      

Not that I am saying the DJ was behind the times but at least twice I looked over and thought he was calling the '80s.  Then I realized he was using a phone receiver to sync the CDs.  Seems he didn't have headphones.

My daughter decorated with pumpkins, to tie in the late October date.  She used the pumpkin carving kit I brought over and some black lace stockings into which she stuffed other pumpkins.  She did a nice job.

                     

If you wanted an alcoholic beverage, there was a cash bar.  There was an open bar at the wedding in the US.  The young Brits at that wedding didn't know what to drink first.  They were like kids turned loose in a candy shop and someone shouted, "Free candy!"

Even though there was a cash bar in Grimsby, my son didn't seem to have any problem getting himself a drink.

My wife had a difficult time with her new pink cast.  Don't get me wrong, the color didn't have anything to do with the discomfort.  It was the cast and the pain of the broken bone that were to blame.  The reception was on the second floor of the club house.  The stairs to the reception room had one of those elevator chairs bolted to the wall.  This was much appreciated, as my wife had yet to master the stairs with crutches.

We met family and friends unable to attend the US wedding in May.  We were glad we were able to make the trip to the UK to be a part of this joyous celebration.  I think everyone enjoyed themselves.  I know we did.

The English reception was booked for seven hours.  We were exhausted once back at the guest house.  It was one of those good feeling exhaustions, though.  The kind of exhaustion that takes a load off your shoulders.  Then I realized I had one less child to carry.  She now had a husband with broad shoulders.

©Damyon T. Verbo - all rights reserved