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.

Bus journey from hell

My appointment was at 0930. I checked the bus timetable, and saw that the closest journey to that time left the village at 0903, scheduled to arrive in town at 0918. Would I make it in time? I’d have to walk from the bus station to the hotel where my course was being held, and while a brisk walk would get me there on time, it didn’t allow any margin for error. The earlier journey was at 0803, a little too early, but it would give me ample time to get off at Tesco to buy some lunch and then wander down to my destination, perhaps stopping for a coffee and a read of the paper on the way. Better to be relaxed when I get there than all hot and bothered.

The alarm was set for 0630, although I woke up far earlier than that, and I left the house at 0755, arriving at the bus stop a couple of minutes later. It was a fair morning, although there was a rather biting wind. I had my gloves with me, but I wished I’d taken my hat, as a number two crop doesn’t provide much protection against the elements. Still, the bus would be there shortly. 0810, and there was no sign. By 0820, people were getting concerned. One man pulled out his mobile and phoned the company, only to be told to phone a different number. The second call revealed that the bus had broken down and that a replacement was on the way.

Decision time. Would I head home and risk missing the bus? It was only another half hour until the next one, but at least I’d be warm, and there would be coffee. By 0835 the replacement was spotted heading on its outward journey. It only takes 10 – 15 minutes to get to the terminus and turn, so I decided to wait. After a further fifteen minutes of waiting I realised that they’d cancelled the original service completely and that the bus I’d seen was going to stick to the scheduled timetable. By this time, it was too late to head home for another coffee. I was pissed off. Why didn’t the driver stop and say that he wouldn’t be back until the normal time?

At 0903, still no bus. Seven minutes later it arrived, full. There was no apology forthcoming from the driver. Still, at least I was on my way. The seven minutes lateness was sustained, however, and it left me with five minutes to get to the hotel. I caught a taxi instead, adding to the cost of my journey.

My return journey was no better. It was ten minutes late arriving, and the driver hadn’t a clue. The ticket machine seemed to be a complete mystery to her, and she ended up letting several passengers on for nothing. I still had to pay my £5.60 return fare in the morning, which angered me all the more. When we eventually did get going, we got caught behind a tractor, which was followed more or less all the way, our driver seemingly unaware that she was actually permitted to overtake the damn thing.  Add to that the incessant beep-beep of some alarm coming from the cab, and two potential ASBO cases jumping up and down, abusing passengers, and generally making a nuisance of themselves, I was very glad to get home last night.

The car is still off the road. I had considered getting rid of it completely and relying on public transport to get around, but you know what? I won’t bother. My car is warm. For the seven mile journey into town, it takes me less than fifteen minutes. I don’t have to get out of bed three hours before I have to be anywhere, and it’s completely within my control. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t cost me as much as £0.40 per mile to run.

I am all for moving out of private cars and onto public transport. However, yesterday’s example illustrated all that is wrong with it: buses not running at all, buses running late, indifferent drivers, incompetent drivers, intolerable passengers and a lack of customer service. Privatisation was supposed to mean choice. Competition was supposed to provide better service, higher standards and lower fares. Perhaps it has, but only in areas that can sustain more than one operator. The only competition in this area is for local authority tenders. Stagecoach has a monopoly over all the commercial services in our area, and the only other operators capable of taking them on are other large groups like First and Arriva, who simply aren’t interested unless there’s money in it. Sadly, as long as people are subjected to the kind of experience that I had yesterday, there never will be.

What do you wear under your kilt?

Transport: Heated ‘kilts’ will help trains cope with big chill, while road grit is moved to key spots – Scotsman.com News.

According to the Scotsman, ScotRail is considering fitting “kilts” to its trains to assist with the de-icing process.

In an engineering trial, powerful pumps were used to blow hot air under the skirts to warm up the underside of a train at a depot in Glasgow.

It’s a pity the depot wasn’t in Edinburgh, as the costs of providing hot air would be significantly reduced by using the ample supply from the MSPs at the Scottish Parliament…

 

Banned from driving in the dark

According to researchers from Cardiff University, young drivers should be restricted from driving at night, among other things. The boffins reckon that 200 lives could be saved and 1700 serious injuries prevented.

Who the fuck are these people? Try living in this part of the world and insisting that young people can’t drive at night. How do people get to and from work? Besides, what is defined as “driving at night”? Do we set a time limit – a curfew, if you will – when anyone found driving outwith those hours would be penalised? Or do we simply prevent young people driving when the street lights are on? Fine during the summer months, but in the middle of winter that could be any time between 3pm and 9am.

Don’t even begin to suggest public transport. Our last bus from town leaves at 6.20pm (until they reinstate the evening services next week) and taxis can be between £12 and £16. 

Morons.