Why is crapness ok?

That title makes this sound like the start of a Carrie Bradshaw stream of consciousness, but it isn't - I promise.

But what really pi**es me off about this country - and I realise it's at least as bad in plenty of other countries, not least my own - crapness seems to be acceptable.

Thanks to some mysterious 'signal failure' (aka 'feeble excuse no 795') today, what would normally have involved a 20 minute train journey (from Guildford to Dorking) took the best part of three hours, via Clapham Junction. At no point did any staff brave the platform and risk the ire - or even the polite questioning - of the small band of weary would-be travellers. No, they hid in their office and cowered behind the tannoy. But, to be fair, the LED screen did say 'sorry' ... That make it all ok, then.

Goslings in Dorking

Finally back online after the move to Dorking - yippee! (On both counts). One of the best things about living in this lovely town is the walk to the station, through the park. Look at these goslings!

Shamrock in Surrey ...

Had possibly my least Irish St Patrick's Day ever - but lo and behold, shamrock on sale in Dorking station. There's hope for Surrey yet!

Vintage French fire engine

Spotted this old French fire engine in Esher (Surrey), of all places. Poor photo, but a certain degree of trespassing was involved, as it was.

Denis Healey snowman

Is is just me, or does this freshly built snow sculpture look like a pensive Denis Healey?

Not enough snow

Like most people in the south east of England, I woke up to snow today - just not enough of it.
While my first move was to peer out the window, my second was to check National Rail's live online departures board, in the hope of being marooned in Leatherhead. Alas, twas not to be, and off to work I traipsed. But doesn't our pond look beautiful in that blue light?

Where the wild winds blow ....

Having just spent the best part of a week between Edinburgh and Manchester (not literally ...), being windswept in the former and soaked to the skin in the latter, I was almost happy to get home to sleepy old Surrey. Until I spotted the garden fence ... or, rather, the gap where it should have been. Worst (or possibly best) of all, the neighbour's cat and I can now eye each other balefully without having to leave our own space.

Blacksmith's empties

In Betchworth for lunch today, I noticed that the local blacksmith had left his empties out for the milkman. No idea why it tickled me, but it did.

The new Royston Vasey?

I'm working from home today, and ambled down the high street of my sleepy Surrey town at lunchtime. As my local - the fantastic Blue Cafe - was packed to the gills, I took my life in my hands and went to a very popular local eaterie. I say 'popular' yet am at pains to understand why. While the food is adequate and the service is good, there is a certain Royston Vasey-ness to it. The regulars are a little alarming. The first time I ventured in there, I had to defend myself against allegations of sitting too long alone at a table (from a patron, not the staff, I hasten to add), despite the place being half empty. This time it came back to me - in a sort of slow motion deja vu moment - that one of my reasons for avoiding it is that the main waitress (a friendly and efficient woman, obviously much loved by less grumpy customers) has got, quite conceivably, the loudest voice outside the Royal Opera House. There I was, working my way through the sudoku in the Times, my ears all but bleeding. So it was off to the Blue Cafe for a restorative latte. These quiet country towns can be hard going ...