David Gillon

'Tis the season....

I was hanging on to post this together with my review of Cherryh's Fortress in the Eye of Time, but that took longer to finish than I'd expected, and I ended up posting it separately, so this is about a week later than intended.

I went into London a week gone Friday, for my annual get-together with university friends. The trip into London was trouble free, but when I went to switch to the Thameslink line at St Pancras, there was a huge crowd in front of the barriers, with someone addressing them with an inaudible loudspeaker. 

I eventually managed to wriggle my way through the crowd to get close enough to hear him, and what he was saying was "We're only allowing people through who are going southbound." Fortunately that was me, so I pushed forward towards the barriers, with a liberal use of "Excuse me!", which people were mostly good about getting out of the way of, though one oblivious guy came very close to getting rammed in both ankles. It was only someone reaching out and shaking his shoulder to get his attention that saved him.

Then I got to the barriers: 

"Where are you going?" says the guy at the wheelchair gate.

"City Thameslink"

"Where are you going?" 

"City Thameslink"

"Where are you going?"

"He's going to City, let him through" says his colleague behind him. I guess having the name of the station include the name of the track invites confusion.

So I got to the platform, not knowing whether I had passenger assistance coming or not, but there was a train due, so I just popped out of the chair, bumped it on and then sat the two stops to City where I repeated the process.

I got to Ye Olde Cock (around since the 1600s, though it has moved site) just before six, and it was heaving - not unexpected for Fleet Street on a Friday night before Christmas. Not so bad I couldn't make my way down the length of the bar, but close to it. Chances of finding a table free: bugger all. So I got myself a pint of a rather nice pale ale and headed back to the entrance to wait for friends. As I got there, Ian and Mandy walked in. We talk to each other on Facebook pretty much daily, but this is the first time they've come to the Christmas do and we're fairly confident we haven't see each other in 28 years*, at which point I still had hair, and Ian wasn't grey, but recognition was instant (Mandy, OTOH, clearly has a picture in the attic). They were quickly followed by Bill, then Andy and Linda, with only Jez making us wait - bloody journos. I wanted to stay with the pale ale, but when the next round came back Andy had been told it was off (it wasn't, as later rounds proved), and had fetched pints of a Christmas Ale instead:- Rudolf, which was very pleasant and tasted of toffee. "By the way, it's 6.5%" Andy mentioned a bit later. Well, I suppose it is Christmas.

* The irony is I've been going to cons, and they ran the Discworld cons for several years, and our paths never crossed.

We managed to colonise the corner of a table, enough to get us somewhere to rest our beers and Mandy and Linda seats - I pointed out the advantages of bringing your own - but there was no way we were getting enough space for the seven of us to eat, so we put plan B into effect. Linda had organised which pub, and made sure it was one I could get into, but Andy had booked an Indian restaurant five minutes away for 8:30. So we headed there, and burst into laughter at the entrance, because there was just a doorway and a staircase descending into the bowels of the earth. So I had to hop out of the staircase and wobble down the stairs while the others carried the chair down for me, amidst much mocking of Andy's inability to organise an accessible venue. We were then faced by a look of horror on the face of the staff when they saw me. Clearly they're used to bowels of the earth meaning they don't get many wheelchair-using customers.

The food was good, but slow of coming and I had to rather bolt it and run, because the last train from City to St Pancras is the unusually early 10:40, and given the earlier problems I wanted to be in plenty of time. Fortunately there were no issues, first train was two minutes after I arrived and they had even managed to raise the platform since I was there last, which meant I could roll straight aboard. A five minute wait at St Pancras, with the ramp already in place for me to board courtesy of another wheelie, and I was home before midnight.

Really good to see everyone, especially Ian and Mandy, who I may get to see for rather longer next year if I get myself organised enough for the Dublin Worldcon.

So, after several pale ales, a pint of Rudolf, and a pint of Cobra, I woke up feeling somewhat delicate the next morning, which wasn't ideal considering I had promised to be out by 11:30 to see a friend singing in a soul choir at Rochester's Dickensian Christmas (which I normally avoid like the plague). So after some quick arithmetic to confirm I was legal to drive I headed out into the drizzle. I had allowed for difficulty in finding a parking space (I was lucky), I hadn't allowed for the traffic being jammed up because of the festival, so I missed a good half of the performance. but did get there in time for the last one and a half songs - and even managed to catch the odd glimpse of Angela at the back of the choir. As the crowds cleared at the end of the performance I realised I was sitting only ten feet away from her husband and daughters, so we all got together to decide what to do next, which given the state of the crowds we decided was "let's get out of here". I'd hoped we could grab a coffee, but that was out of the question, so we postponed that until last Tuesday instead and spent half an hour fighting through the crowds to get me back to my car.

And of course the new wheelchair gloves I'd hoped would turn up before Friday, to save me pushing with soaking wet, freezing fingers, turned up on Monday *headdesk*!

I'm off to my folks in Durham on Wednesday, I should have mifi there, but on the off-chance of something going wrong, Season's Greetings to everyone, and see you in the New Year!