Pick a dilly
Jun. 29th, 2006 07:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cosmolinguistOne of the first things I remember about being in Manchester was eating KFC with Andrew in Piccadilly station. When we were done I looked around for somewhere to put our plastic wrappers and Andrew told me I wouldn't find one. I frowned slightly but didn't ask, so it was a while before I learned that the idea is that the IRA can't put bombs in trash bins if they aren't there.
England was so similar to what I was used to that the tiniest things could — and sometimes still do — disarm me, because I'm not expecting anything strange at all. (Not consciously anyway. But I think somewhere in the background, some bit of me is always aware of it. I don't usually notice it, like you don't usually notice that you can see your nose, but it's there. When I'm feeling small or lonely or just ... adrift, a little of that really is because I know the brands of peanut butter are different and because I have nothing to say in a conversation about having to play cricket and rugby at school.)
Maybe I just like Piccadilly for being one of the first things I rmeember, for being both comfortingly familiar — the KFC, after all, and the general capitalist haven there on the concourse — and excitingly strange. Because there are trains! I love trains. I love public transport in general, the smelly buses that always leave just as you're getting to the bus stop and the Metrolink machines that take my money yet give me no ticket. For someone who can't drive and grew up somewhere that youi have to drive, even British public transport is evidence of divine benevolence. And while being the worst of the lot, with their atrocious and inconsistent pricing, their endless ability to make each of their many sins Someone Else's Fault now that they're privatized, trains are also the best.
The other big station in Manchester makes me feel slightly ashamed for liking Piccadilly. Victoria hasn't been rebuit in glass and steel, so while it has its movie posters and vending machines and yellow-edged-for-your-safety stairs, it also still has a little character. As Wikipedia would tell you, "The present Edwardian building has a 160 yard facade, which still carries an iron and glass canopy bearing the names of the original destinations which it served, and a tile map depicting the routes of the Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway which operated from the station until 1923."
But I've spent a lot more time in Piccadilly; only once have I gotten a train from Victoria (and Andrew later said that couldn't have happened, but look! I have proof), so Victoria was just a place to get on or off the tram. But I've spent lots of time in Piccadilly; waiting for the relatively-infrequent trains to Chester so we could visit Andrew's parents, waiting for Andrew at lunchtime or after work when he worked near the station, waiting for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
irkthepurist and mrs_fhqwhgads, who were on a slower train than they'd anticipated, leaving me lots of time to scrutinize everyone I saw and wonder if I'd recognize them even if I did see them.
And in all that waiting, you hear a lot of train announcements. I get tired of "this is a security announcement" or "this is a platform alteration", but never of the litany of stops: Levenshulme, Heaton Chapel, Stockport, Cheadle Hulme, Handforth, Wilmslow, Alderly Edge, Chelford, Goostrey, Holmes Chapel, Sandbach (pronounced sand-batch of course), Crewe. Mauldeth Road, Burnage, East Didsbury, Gatley, Heald Green, Manchester Airport.
Today's reason I love the internet:auntysarah saying ... joining the tube at Tottenham Hale. That station has a special place in my heart, as the way the woman on the automated announcer thing at Cambridge says it is just so melodious. I think I may have a crush on her over it.
You know, I never thought of it before, and of course I know nothing about the tube, and I don't really get crushes on girls, but I think I know what she means.
At least, I've always liked the sound of Cleethorpes.
England was so similar to what I was used to that the tiniest things could — and sometimes still do — disarm me, because I'm not expecting anything strange at all. (Not consciously anyway. But I think somewhere in the background, some bit of me is always aware of it. I don't usually notice it, like you don't usually notice that you can see your nose, but it's there. When I'm feeling small or lonely or just ... adrift, a little of that really is because I know the brands of peanut butter are different and because I have nothing to say in a conversation about having to play cricket and rugby at school.)
Maybe I just like Piccadilly for being one of the first things I rmeember, for being both comfortingly familiar — the KFC, after all, and the general capitalist haven there on the concourse — and excitingly strange. Because there are trains! I love trains. I love public transport in general, the smelly buses that always leave just as you're getting to the bus stop and the Metrolink machines that take my money yet give me no ticket. For someone who can't drive and grew up somewhere that youi have to drive, even British public transport is evidence of divine benevolence. And while being the worst of the lot, with their atrocious and inconsistent pricing, their endless ability to make each of their many sins Someone Else's Fault now that they're privatized, trains are also the best.
The other big station in Manchester makes me feel slightly ashamed for liking Piccadilly. Victoria hasn't been rebuit in glass and steel, so while it has its movie posters and vending machines and yellow-edged-for-your-safety stairs, it also still has a little character. As Wikipedia would tell you, "The present Edwardian building has a 160 yard facade, which still carries an iron and glass canopy bearing the names of the original destinations which it served, and a tile map depicting the routes of the Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway which operated from the station until 1923."
But I've spent a lot more time in Piccadilly; only once have I gotten a train from Victoria (and Andrew later said that couldn't have happened, but look! I have proof), so Victoria was just a place to get on or off the tram. But I've spent lots of time in Piccadilly; waiting for the relatively-infrequent trains to Chester so we could visit Andrew's parents, waiting for Andrew at lunchtime or after work when he worked near the station, waiting for
irkthepurist and mrs_fhqwhgads, who were on a slower train than they'd anticipated, leaving me lots of time to scrutinize everyone I saw and wonder if I'd recognize them even if I did see them. And in all that waiting, you hear a lot of train announcements. I get tired of "this is a security announcement" or "this is a platform alteration", but never of the litany of stops: Levenshulme, Heaton Chapel, Stockport, Cheadle Hulme, Handforth, Wilmslow, Alderly Edge, Chelford, Goostrey, Holmes Chapel, Sandbach (pronounced sand-batch of course), Crewe. Mauldeth Road, Burnage, East Didsbury, Gatley, Heald Green, Manchester Airport.
Today's reason I love the internet:
auntysarah saying ... joining the tube at Tottenham Hale. That station has a special place in my heart, as the way the woman on the automated announcer thing at Cambridge says it is just so melodious. I think I may have a crush on her over it.You know, I never thought of it before, and of course I know nothing about the tube, and I don't really get crushes on girls, but I think I know what she means.
At least, I've always liked the sound of Cleethorpes.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-06-29 06:21 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-06-29 07:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-06-30 07:53 am (UTC)