Injuries (K)nights

Thursday night showed me up as a bit of an asshole.

I'd suffered delays getting home from work that evening, only to be turfed off the tube one stop shy of my home station, which was closed for some reason. While waiting for a bus to take me the last short distance, a helpful station attendant disclosed that there had been a stabbing in the vicinity of Upney station, hence the break in service. None too fussed, I hopped on the next 62 that came along, and settled down for the last short haul, only to leap up like a startled springbok when the bus sailed past Upney Lane, its normal route. I stormed down the stairs to confront the driver, who blithely admitted that he knew the road was closed to traffic, and hadn't thought to let the passengers know. Having disembarked at the junction lights, I marched down Upney Lane, in far less than the best of tempers.

Now, Upney Lane crosses the Underground and C2C lines at Upney Station by means of a small humpback bridge. There is no other way across within a 30 minute walk. So you can imagine my reaction when I reached the roadblock and was told that I could not be escorted across but had to go around. When I indignantly pointed out the size of the detour, and the length of time involved, I could see a flicker of irritation pass across the officer's face.

"Sir, " he replied curtly, "somebody's been stabbed. We have more important things to worry about."

Of course, he was absolutely right, not that it registered immediately. My dudgeon has risen way too high to allow that thought in easily. I swept off parallel to the tracks, intending to cut through the park to get to the next bridge, only to turn and head directly back the way I came as the park entrance was blocked with construction equipment. With detours and bus waits, I only got home after 10.

The time spent walking from blockade to bus stop and waiting in the cold cooled my ire, and gave me time to reflect. The station staff were clearly aware of the situation at Upney, and had not thought to advise travellers of the change in routes, which would have given those of us heading in that direction the chance to avoid additional delay. The police may have thought it superfluous to station an officer at the head of Upney Lane to divert pedestrians, and the officer who fielded my frustrated attempts to short-cut through the scene was probably as irritable as I was. None of that excuses my complete lack of compassion for the victim. I should have been horrified, and instead I was merely vexed. That makes me a bit of an asshole, a surprising and unpleasant discovery.

Not as much of an asshole as others, though.

Zara and I were invited to a Burns' Night celebration on Saturday evening. It was to have been a thronging, whisky-soaked event, replete with haggis, neeps and tatties. As it transpired, a good evening was had by all - all five of us, two of whom are currently teetotal! For a variety of reasons - some excellent (food poisoning and short-notice relocation) and some less so - only 3 of the 12 guests arrived. We managed to have a great time anyway. Magnificent kudos goes to Kevin for his tasty haggis, the surprisingly good turnips, 8 different single malts, the lyrical renditions of the Selkirk Grace and To a Haggis, and his overall good humour in spite of the dearth of drinking guests, and to Rachel for catering for the haggisphobes. I'm already looking forward to next year's event - we shall make it an even better one, and this time we'll be drinking!