Going Underground

Confessions from the Underground

I missed Channel 4′s Confessions from the Underground the other night, and finally managed to catch up with it on YouTube (link above). I thought initially that it would be one of these fly-on-the-wall documentaries illustrating the daily life of one of the world’s busiest transport systems. but I was left feeling shocked and somewhat horrified as it turned out to be a big exercise in whistleblowing.

Platform staff tell how they have to deal with overcrowded stations, with hundreds of people crammed onto one platform. They tell of the abuse, both verbal and physical, that they receive from passengers. They tell about hating having to lie to passengers about delays when the automated station announcements proclaim “Good Service”. They highlight the fact that they are often chronically understaffed, and sometimes are under pressure from management to keep a station open despite not having the legal minimum number of people in place.

A maintenance technician has to diagnose electrical faults using his bare hands because the insulating gloves supplied are too slippery to be able to handle components properly. He receives electric shocks on such a regular basis that he doesn’t bother reporting them any more – indeed, LU confirmed in a statement that no such reports had been made in the last four years. Besides, he says, 110V isn’t a big shock anyway – he’s far more concerned about the 600V live rail that he occasionally have to work around. Track faults are highlighted by another maintenance man; faults are reported, but swept under the carpet.

A driver explains how they have two major fears. The first is the “One Under“, which is when someone commits suicide by jumping in front of the train. It’s a particularly harrowing event that leaves train drivers feeling responsible for the death, even through there’s nothing they can do about it. The second fear is catching someone in the train doors as they depart from the station. There are no guards on the trains any more, and they have to rely on “mirrors and monitors” which often do not work.

The most shocking thing for me was that in the event of a One Under, the body is often removed to another are of the station – frequently a cupboard –  in order for the network to continue running.

It beggars belief that in the 21st century, and on a network that can boast over a billion passenger journeys a year, London Underground should be in such a perilous state. One would think that if passenger journeys are on the increase, the number of staff employed should also increase; instead there have been cuts in staffing. No member of staff should ever be made to feel as if they’re completely on their own, and they should certainly never ever have to be afraid of verbal or physical attack. Poor maintenance has been responsible for deaths on other parts of the rail network – Hatfield and Grayrigg to name two – so why LU want to decrease their maintenance budget is beyond belief.

The overall impression I got from this programme was that the Underground is one big disaster waiting to happen. I’m fortunate enough not to have to use the system on a daily basis, but if I did I would be seriously worried and would probably be re-thinking how I get to work.

 

Paradise on Boris Island

Boris Johnson had a dream. His world was infested with evil red worms called Bendy-buses, which clogged up the roads and upset motorists. He yearned for the bygone days of the Routemaster, with its open platform which enabled people to hop on and fall off willy-nilly. So much was his longing that he arranged a competition, and a few years (and several million quid) later, we now have the New Bus for London.

Having rid the capital of his pet hate, he has a new dream: to build a new island in the Thames. It will provide a transport mega-hub, with four runways, rail-links from the centre of London and elsewhere, and enough capacity to permit transfers from short-haul flights from within the UK. A new Thames barrier would be provided, doubling up as a new road crossing. The cost? A mere £50bn. That’s right. Fifty Billion Pounds.

So why is this so wrong? For a start, the Thames estuary is known for being a haven for migrating birds. Although his plan apparently includes proposals to create a new nature reserve, it sounds like a recipe for disaster. Aircraft engines and birds don’t tend to play very well together. Then there’s the CO2 emissions and noise that would come from an airport with four runways.

Ah, but we need to the capacity to encourage foreign investment, don’t we? Perhaps, but there is a fairly easy way of doing that without  building additional airports.  We improve transport links between the major cities, including those with existing international airports. A decent high speed rail network would all but kill demand for domestic flights, with only those from the farthest-flung UK destinations being necessary. We could improve transport links between the existing London airports to make transfers from one to the other as easy as possible. Let’s face it, London has enough of them: Gatwick, Heathrow, London City, Luton and Stanstead.

£50bn could go a long way without having to spend it on another vanity project. Remember that this is Britain – by the time we get around to building the damn thing it’ll be well over-budget, and probably well out-of-date as well.

While I’m totally against this particular island, the concept of “A New Island for Boris” is one that I’m warming to. Somewhere far away, surrounded by shark-infested waters and with no hope of ever escaping. Stick Cameron, Osborne and the rest of the crew there for eternity and I’ll be happy. On reflection, £50bn might just seem like a bargain after all.

So that was 2011

Here we are once again. It’s Hogmanay, or New Year’s Eve for those of you not of a Scottish persuasion. It doesn’t seem that long ago since the last one. Time seems to fly ever more quickly the older I become. 

My blogging has been very light, lately. I’ve had plenty to say, but recently I’ve found it really difficult to get the thoughts out onto the page and arrange them into some sensible order, without turning into a shouty person at the same time. Everyone has good days and bad days, but I’ve had more of the latter this year, and I didn’t want to turn my blog into some kind of depressive rant. 

The Post-a-day initiative failed, miserably! It was a good idea in theory, but in practice I found it very hard to do. On days when I had little to say, I felt obliged to publish something, but the last thing I wanted to do was for the blog to become one big long list of status updates. I have Twitter and Facebook for that. I thought perhaps switching to doing a post-a-week would be better, but even then, it became a chore.

While my blogging may have declined, I’ve been more active elsewhere. I’ve been a lot more active on Twitter, and this was also the year that Google+ appeared. I’m not quite sure where I’m going with that one – I post occasionally, and I’ve had a couple of really interesting discussions there too. Then there’s Facebook, too. Perhaps I should have one place where I can bring it all together. Who knows? 

So, what about 2012? No promises! Let’s just see how it goes, eh?

The death of the Community Council

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-scotland-15545566

I’ve heard various reports, most recently about Western Isles, that Community Councils in Scotland are on the decline. I didn’t really give it much thought until I read today’s BBC report on the matter. Lack of interest is cited as one of the main reasons, along with a shortage of younger people willing to get involved.

I was aware of the existence of Community Councils, but I always thought they were only an informal affair, without much power and probably full of local do-gooder types (there, my prejudices are laid on the table). I wasn’t aware that they do actually have some statutory role in aspects of local decision making such as planning and licensing.

My own local Community Council was fairly active, I thought. I would hear mention of it when I was a kid, and I’d always assumed it had carried on its activities. However, a quick visit to my local authority’s website revealed that my own local council was one of the ones suspended due to lack of numbers. I was quite taken aback. Am I really surprised, though? If my local MP or MSP died, resigned or otherwise became indisposed, there would be publicity, and a subsequent by-election. I’ve seen no such publicity about my own local Community Council. I tend not to read the local papers, so perhaps I missed something there, but the first thing I would expect is a leaflet through my front door. If I wanted to become an MP, the process for doing so is fairly well documented; it’s not so obvious how to become a community councillor.

So why aren’t people getting involved? Apart from not knowing about the existence of a local organisation, there are time constraints. If you have a council which meets on a certain day at a certain time, you then find that anyone who does shift work is less able to fully participate. Is there enough flexibility in the system? Although we lead busy lives, people will find the time to engage in such activities, given the chance.

It’s a sad situation, because I feel that democracy should begin at the local level. Indeed the more say individual communities have over their own lives, the better. I read somewhere recently that we should be looking at re-instating the old parish and town councils, and I totally agree.

Will we see Community Councils die within 10 years? No, I don’t believe so, but they need a higher profile. Get a blog, tell us who you are and what you have done, are doing and will do. Get a Facebook page and a Twitter account; if you want the younger generation to take an interest, what better way to engage them?

 

 

 

 

 

On wearing poppies

It was 11th November, perhaps three years ago. It was a normal working day, and word was passed around that our store would be holding a two-minute silence to mark Armistice Day. I remember that I had a particularly hectic schedule that morning and feeling slightly irritated, but hey, it was only two minutes out of the day in which to show respect for the dead, wasn’t it?

My colleague had been given the task of going around the shop ensuring that everyone had poppies. It was almost eleven o’clock when she finally got around to asking me where mine was. “I don’t wear one”, I said. She was furious, muttering something along the lines of “it’s disrespectful” and “it’s wrong”, but it was too late for her to argue. The two minutes came and went, and when I went back into the office the atmosphere was tense. (It was always bloody tense, let’s be honest, but on this occasion it was more so than usual)

When I asked what the problem was, she let rip, demanding to know why I wouldn’t wear a poppy. I felt absolutely no need to explain myself and indicated that my reasons were none of her business. After all, it’s a personal matter to me, and we were in a work situation. Given that many of the staff in the shop had spouses who were serving forces members, I may well have opened a can of worms at the same time. So I kept my mouth shut, and fumed for the rest of my shift.

Why was I angry? Because this whole thing is so enforced. I remember being asked at school: “Where’s your poppy?” At school the excuse of “lost it” didn’t wash, because inevitably there were spares. There were spares that day at work, too, but no manager, supervisor or work colleague is going to bully me into wearing something I don’t believe in wearing. Had I known about the white poppy at the time I may have worn one of those, I but I will not be forced to wear a red one.

There are many symbols that people choose to wear to support various campaigns. We have the pink ribbon for breast cancer awareness and the white ribbon for raising awareness of violence against women. Perhaps the most relevant to me, is the red ribbon symbol worn for World Aids Day. I’ve tried to wear it at work before and I’ve been told by various bosses over the years to remove it. What’s the difference? I would never dream of forcing colleagues to wear a red ribbon – it’s a matter of choice – yet at the same time, I’m expected to wear the poppy. Anyone who chooses not to is vilified and accused of being disrespectful.

For the record, I have a great deal of respect for the people who lost their lives in the two great wars, many of whom didn’t have the choice. I also feel a great sadness that so many of our young people continue to fall in ongoing conflicts. I just don’t need to wear a symbol to show it.