Liberal Bureaucracy
The musings of a liberal and an internationalist, living in Suffolk's county town. There may be references to parish councils, bureaucracy and travel, amongst other things. And yes, I'm a Liberal Democrat.
Saturday, January 04, 2025
Labour: pulling levers and finding that the cables were cut long ago…
Thursday, January 02, 2025
Worcester: not going there from exactly here…
Catching trains is usually a fairly straightforward affair, especially in suburban stations. There are two platforms, one ‘down’, one ‘up’, usually corresponding to the usual rules of the road. And, when you have platform indicators telling you when trains are coming and which track they’ll be one, it should be pretty foolproof, you’d think, right?
But I’m getting ahead of myself a bit.
Pre-COVID, when we were last in the Metro West suburbs of Boston, there was a really good local pizza place called “Volturno” which, amongst its various delights, included an octopus starter which Ros and I both rather enjoyed. Unfortunately, the Framingham branch bit the dust, presumably down to the pandemic.
The good news, however, was that the original restaurant in Worcester had survived, and as we were both at a loose end today, we thought that we’d take the train from West Natick and have a nice lunch. The train fare for the scheduled forty-five minute journey was a very reasonable $4.50 each way (no discount for return journeys, I note) and, whilst the trains themselves are definitely showing their age, they’re warm and comfortable enough.
The Massachusetts Bay Transportation Authority (MBTA) is a bit eccentric. Outside of the rush hours, they insist that you board the train at a specified spot on the platform which, at West Natick, is a small raised section at the most westerly end of the platform. And, to make matters more entertaining, during large chunks of the day, ‘down’ trains serve the ‘up’ platform.
On arrival at the station, I noted the platform indicator stating that our train would leave from track 1, the ‘up’ or ‘wrong’ platform, and that we should board from the designated spot. So, you can imagine my surprise when, spot on time, the train arrived… on the other platform.
No problem, right? Simply cross from one platform to the other, board train. But no, there is no footbridge at West Natick, and the sole crossing point is at track level, at the other end of the platform. I am not as quick across the ground as I once was, but I wasn’t simply going to give up, given that the next train was two hours away. And we made it with the aid of a bit of frantic waving and a kindly train conductor who, seeing us heading towards her, held the train until we could board.
Drama, and a bit of cardio exercise, over, we could enjoy the train ride to Worcester, dotted as it is with forests and lakes. And, due to the quirky scheduling which allows twenty-seven minutes for the twelve-minute journey from the penultimate stop at Grafton, we were a full quarter of an hour early arriving at our destination.
Worcester itself is in the process of reinventing itself, and I remember going there twenty years ago when the outlet mall built in the downtown area had spectacularly failed, creating an enormous void in the heart of the city. Things have rather improved although, like a lot of American cities, it feels a bit stark and empty of life. Ros reminds me that the development of American cities was, and remains, very different to that of European ones, and I do occasionally need to remind myself of that.
We walked about a bit, admiring City Hall and Worcester Common in front of it, before heading to lunch. Disaster! Volturno was closed for repairs - it might have been nice had they mentioned that prominently on their website, but luckily enough the neighbouring brew house was open and serving some good food and equally good beer. I’d spotted products of the Wormtown Brewery in the past and was now able to put two and two together - Wormtown is a nickname for Worcester.
Replete, it was time to head back to Union Station for the train back to West Natick. As we arrived, it dawned on me - we were on the wrong platform again. And again, passengers were dashing to catch the train. We got off the train, shrugged our shoulders at the eccentricity of the MBTA, and went home…
Wednesday, January 01, 2025
2025 is here, and so?
I’ve never really been one to mark the New Year. We’re often away, but that’s as much for reasons other than the celebration of the turning of the page from year to year.
But 2024 did see a few changes, mostly psychological, I’d suggest. I turned sixty which, whilst the day itself didn’t really resonate, has led to a mild sense of, well, it’s hard to explain really. I do feel that I’m slightly slower, slightly “older” and thus mildly more cautious. And, of course, this is absurd. Physically, nothing has changed, in that my weight is pretty constant, my underlying health (apart from slightly elevated cholestrol) apparently good if my recent health check is to be believed.
Best of all, I have Ros. Yes, I admit that that sounds a little “soppy” but as the years pass by, I value her in ways that I might not have expected. Even her simple presence enhances my day.
And, with the new home, life is much simpler. Having pretty much everything we need within a short walk (including my office) just allows a degree of spontaneity that didn’t exist when we were in the Creetings and I have a Senior Railcard for when Ipswich comes up short.
So, a new year offers an opportunity (or, if you like, justification) to ring the changes a bit, and that’s my plan for the year ahead. Nothing big, or wildly ambitious, but simply making slightly different choices and engaging a bit more.
Wish me luck along the way…
Sunday, December 08, 2024
Regional Candidates Committee - let the verwaltung* commence (but not until the New Year)
Saturday, November 30, 2024
I’ve been clothes shopping…
Friday, November 29, 2024
I'm not dying, at least, not yet...
One of the things about getting older is that the NHS tends to take more interest in you. Now, given that I believe that preventative medicine is a thoroughly good thing, I can hardly object to that. And so, when I received an invitation from my surgery to come in for a free NHS Health Check, naturally I thought that taking this up might be a good idea. After all, what's the worst that could happen, right?
Hmmm... well, actually, quite a lot, I guess. I am, after all, the far side of sixty. And whilst the Senior Railcard is a welcome boost to my finances, I am at the stage where things start to go wrong, or simply fail. But you can't dwell on these things and, in any case, isn't it better to know what might be wrong and, if there is anything, what you might do to mitigate it?
The first stage was a blood test, which was relatively pain free. I'm not a huge fan of needles, which does make me wonder why I watch the needle going in, but that was alright. All I then had to do was wait a week and return for the inevitable lecture about being less of a walrus.
As it turned out though, the whole walrus thing went unremarked upon. My blood pressure is fine, blood sugars fine, cholesterol a bit on the high side but nothing remarkable and, in short, if I lost some weight, I'd be in pretty good health for a man of my age. That is, as you might imagine, modestly reassuring. I might start paying more attention as I cross roads going forward, but otherwise, I have nothing obvious to worry about.
There is, however, a sense that I can't simply maintain the habits that I always have. I eat reasonably well, thanks to Ros, and I really don't drink that much any more, so much so that I'm beginning to run up a significant balance with the wine club I'm a member of. Holidays are an issue in that they tend to be the primary cause of weight gain, and I'm not terribly disciplined when it comes to diets.
On the other hand, the 10,000 steps each day are a positive, and I tend not to experience much in the way of stress, despite the things I do both professionally and for "leisure" - is being a Liberal Democrat leisure? Life is, in most ways, good.
Ah well, onwards and upwards (in a chronological sense, at least)...
Wednesday, November 27, 2024
For Gawd's sake, get me to the Parish Council on time...
I am, allegedly, a responsible adult. At least, I am the Chair of a Parish Council which should, theoretically, make me a responsible adult - I leave that to others to judge. But, in planning our trip to Tirana, I had suffered something of a diary malfunction which meant that, whilst I was starting my day with an excellent breakfast in our Tirana hotel, I was supposed to be finishing it at a Council meeting in Creeting St Peter. And, given that we're a councillor short, we don't have a lot of wriggle room in terms of absences.
There is only one British Airways flight per day to Tirana, and the Monday flight leaves Mother Teresa International at 13.35, with a scheduled arrival time at Heathrow's Terminal 5 at 16.05. That notionally gave me three hours and twenty-five minutes to exit the aircraft, clear immigration, collect our luggage, catch two trains to Stowmarket and have a taxi drop me outside the Church Room. Easy, right? No reason to be slightly on edge, eh?
The weather was still nice, and we were packed and ready to go, so we took the opportunity to take a last stroll around the city centre before heading for the airport where we encountered a rather jolly, helpful chap who turned out to be the local British Airways manager. I did wonder for a moment if he was real, as that's not always what you expect from their ground staff...
The lounge is nice enough, with homemade cake and an interesting selection of Albanian food and wine, but we did need to spend the last of our Albanian Lek - a bottle of Albanian rose did the job - before we headed to the gate a little earlier than we had been told to, only to find that the flight was already boarding. It was all so efficient, indeed, that we were ready to go ten minutes early. I might yet make my meeting...
There is, if you're flying into Heathrow, every likelihood that you'll end up in a holding pattern over East London was ages, but after an uneventful flight, we were on the ground early and, whilst immigration was busy, we made good time through the e-gates. My hopes of catching the 16.50 Elizabeth Line train to Liverpool Street were rising.
And yet, and yet, where was the luggage? We reached the carousel only to find a distinct lack of activity. We waited... and waited, as time ticked on. I was just beginning to give up hope when, at 16.41, there was a flurry of bags and, grabbing mine, we made haste to the Elizabeth Line station where the train was still waiting for us.
The connection at Liverpool Street for the 18.00 Norwich train was a relatively easy one, and I had a taxi waiting for me at Stowmarket when I arrived there at 19.20, which whisked me to the Church Room in the nick of time.
But a responsibility is a responsibility, right?...