Week 4: Trains,
Buses, and Automobiles
This week’s London Calling is really a catch up from last
week. May as well continue the list of “more things not to catch” starting with
Leptospirosis and Brucellosis and finishing with entamoeba histolytica,
an ugly customer if I ever saw one. I will spare you the gory details but if
you attended our lecture and lab you will certainly never order anchovy anything
again. Myiasis and tungiasis are no
picnic either. Kind of made me nostalgic for a good case of malaria or
something.
Anyway, snow turned to rain and the weekdays to the weekend, which
could mean only one thing : FA Cup Football at Old Trafford. Blame Laurel for
this (who didn’t even tag along) by connecting me with two of Rachel’s friends
at Oxford. Stasi, a huge United supporter and a Bulgarian conuntryman of
Fulham’s Berbatov, and Bri, a fair weather San Diego Charger fan who didn’t
know any better were the Oxford contingent.
Transportation to was relatively straightforward, though it
did involve a London Train called the Tube and a bus to Oxford, also called a
Tube for no clear reason, and then a rental car. Somewhat bravely, considering
they drive in the opposite direction here, I declined the extra insurance, and
set off for Manchester on the left (right) side of the road. Stasi, who
believes neither in GPS nor bringing the map with us navigated flawlessly.
Unbelievable really.
It was raining
lightly on arrival and not too cold. Spent an hour or so wondering the hallowed
grounds before winding our way into the third tier of the NW stand, where,
though we were quite a distance from the pitch, we were still able to judge the
handballs and offsides with much better accuracy than the referee who had to
try to see everything from the actual field. No wonder they can’t get any calls
right.
Game was great for United fans who sang and cheered for the home team
(nothing quite so frightening as a bunch of beered up Man United hooligans
singing Que Sera Sera at the top of their lungs). Final score was 4-1 for
United. Rain began to pick up as we were
leaving but we managed to make it back to our car where we, to my relief, found
it where we had left it and with no new damage! We had cheerfully forked over
ten pounds to a guy who said: “park here” and pointed to a local flat’s
driveway where we proceeded to park, blocking in 3 other cars? We shrugged and figured
that must be how it is done
in Manchester and on our return, the drivers and
crew of the parked in cars were waiting more or less patiently. One of them
even suggested a soccer movie called Green Street or something like that which I
will have to remember to Google up. Once
back in the car, the rain came down in sheets and there was spectacular
lightning. Stasi proved just as reliable on the way home until we got back to
Oxford, where he happens to be living, and we made two complete trips around
the traffic circle before picking the right exit. Leaving the car at the depot
we walked back through the teenage Mods and Rockers (language, dress, etc could
have been right out of Quadrophenia) clubbing like crazy at midnight in Oxford
despite the downpour. From there, an eventual Oxford Tube (bus) back to London
arriving back at Victoria station about 2:30am. The significance of that is that
the London Tube (train) stops running at midnight. Who knew? Oh well, nothing
to do but hoof it back to Bloomsbury. Had all of Buckingham Palace and St.
James Park to myself and it was really quite peaceful and would have been
pleasant except for the rain. And the sign that said “Beware Thieves.” Spent
the next 15 minutes keeping an eye out while I tried to figure out if they were
warning me or the thieves? Made it to Piccadilly Circus unscathed to find out
that most of London, like Oxford, is out and about drinking and clubbing into
the wee hours. Rolled in to our flat
sometime between 330 and 4 and felt ashamed that I didn’t have the energy to
rejoin the crowds at Piccadilly. Maybe next time.
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