It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.....
Christmas Eve, sat in the office staring out over the backlit Mancunian landscape. Bored. All my work is done, there’s nobody else in work off my section and the prospect of the rest of the day stretching before me like a desert to be crossed is not to be relished. Some cheery soul from another section has brought a mini ghetto-blaster in and is ‘treating’ us all to the same bloody Christmas tunes we’ve all been forced to listen to in shops, stores and supermarkets for the past two months.
Two words: bah and humbug!
On top of this I have the joy of utilising public transport in order to get home. My car has developed a few problems over recent weeks and a blowing head gasket is the last straw. Time to cut my losses and start the hunt for a replacement although I’ve decided to wait until the New Year in the hope that prices will fall even further. Here’s hoping.
So every morning I’ve been up and out of the house by 7:00 and, on a good day, sat at my desk by 8:00. A bus journey and a tram ride that have turned out to be pretty efficient especially considering just how congested Manchester supposedly is at that time of the morning. In fact the more I have experienced getting into central Manchester before getting a tram out to Trafford just proves how little congestion there is. It really does give lie to the myth peddled by the pro lobby that we were on the verge of meltdown if we didn’t vote the charge in. There’s a definite feeling of schadenfreude as I pass the hundreds of tattered pro-charge posters that are beginning to peel from their billboards, “I want lower bus fares that’s why I’m voting yes”, “I can’t be late for any more meetings that’s why I’m voting yes” and the biggest lie of all “I want to feel safer on the bus that’s why I’m voting yes.” I could never figure that one out. What would the charge pay for? Armed guards? A conductor maybe? Nah it was just CCTV so we could watch reruns of hooded thugs on Crimewatch. Terrorising and assaulting passengers to their heart’s content.
Unless you pay for a months pass upfront (which requires photographic ID and a trip to one of Greater Manchester Transport Authority’s few paypoint shops) it’s an expensive business as well. At straight prices my day’s trip to and from work comes to £11.40 although by utilising a day saver ticket I have managed to reduce that outlay to £7.70. Given that I’ll be off over Christmas and the New Year and that I can’t be sure when I’ll be car-bound again, investing in a monthly pass isn’t on at the moment.
The icing on the cake for us public transport users though is our fellow travellers. Be they angry, chatty, deranged or simply pissed they are a constant joy and it’s well worth the expenditure just to spend time in their company. Hyperactive kids with sugar rushes winding up their can’t-be-arsed parents. Can’t-be-arsed parents listening to Hip Hop and R & B through tinny headphones as their offspring piss off the rest of the bus/tram with screaming and shouting and jumping on and off seats. Effing this and effing that from the mouths of mere babes sometimes but, more often than not from just about everybody who converses. Bliss.
Youngest and I went to Droylsden FC last night to watch the Mighty Bloods giant-kill Chesterfied Town in the fourth replay of their FA Cup 2nd round fixture. We’ve had two draws, an abandonment due to fog and an abandonment due to failed floodlights.. It was grand! A good crowd of 2,800 turned up and the prices were pegged at £5 and £2 concessions. The clubhouse was heaving. I reckon they pulled in a fair few quid behind the bar alone.
The win wasn’t a fluke either. Droylsden were well worth their victory. Organised and full of endeavour, it was good result against a decent team and we’re all set for the visit to Ipswich Town in round three.
As I‘ve typed this I’ve become more cheerful. The music’s stopped for a start and the sun is shining brightly. The reason I’ve cheered up is because I suddenly had a flashback to this time last year. Christmas Eve 2007. Throwing it down from dawn till dusk and me traipsing the streets of Glodwick pushing soggy Christmas cards through recalcitrant letter boxes. I’m now counting my blessings. It’s funny actually, there was some discussion of Radio Five Live a couple of weeks ago referring to the Government’s intent on part privatising the Post Office and they had a caller who had been a postman for a while. He said he’d been made redundant from a previous job and was getting pretty desperate by the time he found work with the PO. He said he was very keen to do the job and was eager to please. He said he was overjoyed to be given the opportunity and was grateful to the PO for giving him a chance. However he soon decided he’d had enough and moved on. He said this was because the management style was Dickensian in its approach to staff. Intransigent middle and upper management who were incapable of original though laying down the law and increasing the workload on everyone else according to the caller. He said it was the most misery-inducing job he’d ever had.
And guess where he worked? At the same sorting office I did. And he named it on air. Now my wife believes me when I go on about ‘the bad old days’.
Merry Christmas one and all.
