Now it so happens that there have been a number of selfish parents of children at the nearby school (Stamford Green) who, rather than park their tractors a few yards away, or even, heaven forfend, walk their children to school, park their tractors all over the grass verges, doing serious damage at this time of year, when the ground is wet. The headmistress of the school has, to her credit, tackled parents about this in the past, but some of them are still at it. And one was at it on this day and I tried tackling him, not thinking to take a picture of his car first, which would have been a useful fallback. A small scruffy man, possibly Italian, told me to mind my own business and was not impressed when I suggested that as a resident it was my business. And when I asked him how he would like it if I were to key his car or trash his front verge, he became abusive and I did not try to face him down. Chickened out I suppose. I doubt whether I have done any good, but one never knows: people of his sort are unlikely to back down to your face, but maybe he will give the matter some thought later.
Arrived at Epsom to find that trains to Waterloo were in a bit of a state, with the announcer passing the buck by telling us at regular intervals that it was all due to train crews obeying the instructions of the signal crews. I was not much affected as a very late running train then rolled into Epsom, picked up a few passengers and then proceeded, more or less non-stop to Waterloo. At least there were no station stops.
Pulled a Bullingdon from the pole position at the top of the ramp, only to discover that the luggage strap had snapped. But not a problem as tying my bag on with the loose end of the strap worked OK.
Slightly hairy cycling down the ramp in the dark, busy with commuters on foot and on wheels, travelling both directions. Managed not to hit anyone. I did not press button red for damaged cycle at the end of the trip of just over ten minutes.
Cheese bought, I made a picnic of bread and cheese (from the stuff bought from Waitrose in Kingston, noticed at reference 1). Then onto the Barrow Boy and Banker for a spot of their white and some discussion of the different ways in which internal conflicts arise and are resolved in government departments and insurance companies, before heading back to Waterloo, a trip of just under ten minutes.
Slightly hairy on this leg on account of a coach which declined to overtake me down most of the length of Stamford Street, despite there being room, but which then did overtake me at the Waterloo end of the street, stopped at the crossing well clear of the pavement and then opened up his passenger door just as I came up his nearside. Luckily I had enough seconds in which to react.
Position 3 at the top of the ramp.
Ten coachers - trains not buses - now seem to be common on the Epsom line, perhaps the big contribution of the new franchise holder, which means that the doors of the last coach now open right on the stairs down from the platform, a quicker exit to the taxis.
Except that I got into a muddle with my tickets. Luckily the girl on the barriers was a regular, knew me for a regular guy and waved me through.
Reference 1: http://psmv3.blogspot.co.uk/2018/01/kingston-upon-thames.html.
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