OK OK, it had to happen ….. My first observation about, ‘The Chelsea Tractor’. To be honest it’s more about the ignorance of and lack of adherence to the Highway Code by the drivers of SW3, the majority of which just happen to be driving 4x4s.
Bearing in mind that Chelsea happens to be one of the most densely populated residential areas in Central London, this flagrant flouting of driving decorum really gets up my nose (careful, this sounds like a rant, Ed). What I particularly find offensive is drivers not stopping at pedestrian crossings. For some reason it happens rather too frequently on the crossing outside Johnson’s the dry cleaners on Sloane Avenue usually when I’m struggling home in the wind with half a dozen freshly pressed shirts and a couple of suits blown around my head making me look like I failed the audition for, ‘The Invisible Man’.
Seriously though, such is the speed at which they shoot past I can’t even crane my neck over and shout, ‘Oi, you….’ through their windows in Millwall fan abuse the ref. mode just to get it off my chest, well that’s what I thought until last week that is.
Dry cleaning done and perspiring nicely post 6km jog, this time I was about to cross with two carrier bags full of shopping when.., ‘Shheeeeeoow’ like the bat-mobile on PCP a black Maserati shot through at such a pace it caused my sweaty fringe to lick my face depositing about half a cupful of salty liquid on the pensioner next to me. For some reason, with hands full and thus without the option of defaulting to the usual two fingered salute, I proceeded to make myself as large as possible. In hindsight, I can only assume that this was based on some primeval fight or flight programming instilled within my DNA which at some point over the past few million years must have bumped into that of a Kimono Dragon. The resulting manoeuvre had me lean back, take a deep breath, lean forward and then kick out my right foot a la Beckham bending one (the full carrier bags providing excellent counterbalance) whilst simultaneously raising both my arms in lateral raise weight lifting fashion. Unfortunately I resembled a cross between a trainee Ashtanga Vinyasa Instructor, a Dutch Milk Maid and Basil Fawlty – scaring the pensioner, alerting the entire staff in the dry cleaners, falling flat on my arse and providing excellent entertainment for the twelve or so people sucking on their lattes in Starbucks window. Needless to say I get my coffee from Cafe Nero on The Kings Road now.

Big Issue vendors aren’t lepers

Last Saturday was one of those ‘maintenance’ days – get new tyres on the car, get a haircut, get a few things in as we had guests staying etc. So, hungry, at about 10am I nipped into Sainsburys on Sloane Avenue for a sandwich, not my first choice for fresh and tasty sustenance but I had a lot on. On exiting I noticed the regular Big Issue guy offering The Big Issue outside, like many vendors he was smiling and polite standing a sufficient distance so’s not to encroach on anybody’s personal space.
The reaction that I noticed to him though was quite upsetting. The response he got to his gentle offerings ranged from a complete head-down blanking rushing away to mothers ushering their children past him with such panic that they could only have assumed that he was offering their princes and princesses heroin.
We were due to sit down to dinner that evening at 8pm and I had to nip back to the store for a lemon about 7.30, guess what, he was still there. He’d been out there for 10 hours with only  a few short breaks. I asked him how many copies he’d sold and he told me 10 or 12. That’s less than £1 per hour, shocking in anybody’s money and on a Saturday. Homelessness is a disease, it can happen to any of us, on average most people are 3 pay cheques away from loosing their homes.
Buy the Big Issue today, keep on buying it too, it’s a great read. Even better try to find out a bit more about the excellent work that  the Big Issue foundation does, in fact why not volunteer?

My Mum is 80 this year and like many offspring, I’ve fallen into the trap of trying to dress my parents all trendy. My Dad’s wardrobe sports Paul Smith T’s, Ozwald Botang smart shirts and Fat Face casuals and he loves it. My Mothers though is less of a nod to Kensington High Street. Last Christmas I managed to get her wearing a Jack Wolfskin outdoor jacket, mainly in the garden, and some casuals from Peter Jones festoon her garment rail. For about 18 months now I have toyed with the idea of getting her a pair of Uggs… But is it a good idea? Too expensive, no my Mum’s worth it. Too trendy, no they’re very practical. They won’t look right, no they look great on anyone. Will she wear them, of course, she was a massive Wombles fan!
After running this mini cost benefit analysis over and over, I still haven’t bought her a pair as it just doesn’t feel right. Imagine how pleased I was then to spot this couple of pensioners out for a stroll, him in usual Chelsea apparel, her in similar .. apart from …. what’s she wearing on her feet? Yes! Ugg boots! Wonderful.

Trendy pensioners

Looks like my Mum’s finally going to get a pair this year. Mind you she’ll probably end up wearing them for digging the vegetable patch.

Anybody following the London news recently will have heard the furore over the initiative to ‘pedestrianise’ the SE corner of Sloane Square. Protests have occured and petitions have been delivered to the relevant authorities summing up the locals opinion on this half arsed attempt at ‘going Dutch’. The result is an Amsterdam type arrangement where pedestrians and vehicles occupy a shared space. What I mean is that there is no physical boundary from the pavement to the road – a kerb to you and me. The resultant layout is one of overpriced fancy paving blocks extending from the area outside the tube station right across the road to the east of Hugo Boss in one uniform pattern and, here’s the scary bit: at the same level, with no change in colour or texture and no tactile strip (big dimples at the edge of the pavement).
What happens? People walk straight out of the station thinking the area  is pedestrianised, right into the oncoming traffic!  Now it would be easy to launch into a rant about the ‘ idiots at the council’ wouldnt it? So let’s assess the evidence and give them a chance….. First off they recognized the problem i.e. One of people – generally children and the infirm – walking into a busy road  and came up with a solution. Signs, yes big red signs. So much for an easy on the eye public realm? Anyway, the signs were placed so high that only horse mounted police and basketball players could read them! So they lowered the signs, scratching the nice new street furniture they were attached to on the way down, to ensure that even 7/8ths of the cast of ‘Snow White’ can  now read them should The Royal Court Theatre opt for a more commercial production this Christmas.
Let’s face it we’ve all been to Amsterdam (plus some other European towns) and seen the street layouts there, hell most of us have probably even come close to sparring  with the odd tram after a session sucking on a bong in the Bulldog bar. But it works in The ‘Dam and it works because:

A) generations of locals have had this kind of full integration for as long as there were cars and trams being introduced to the roads, and

B) because it’s everywhere, it’s uniform and they don’t have to think, it’s what their autopilot is set to. In fact the Amsterdam residents are so used to it that they influence the legions of stoned tourists who float  around in relative safety following the crowd.

I’ve drawn a blank on trying to find out the rationale behind Kensington and Chelsea planners causing so much disruption to such a busy part of London and ending up with a completed project that falls way short of safety compliance.

What are we left with? Some egotistical ‘vision’ that cost £350,000 to install – that’s almost £1000 per square metre of grey monotone street covering reminscent of a Moscow suburb. Great if you are an inline skater, no good if you’re: blind, partially sighted, infirm, old, out with the kids, out with the dogs, out in your high heels/MBT’s, out of your head on 5 pints of Stella/a bottle of Pinot Noir after a sesh in The Botanist … that’s just about all of us then!