Please allow pigeons off the train first...

A few weeks ago, Elissa and I took the Metropolitan Line from Aldgate East to Liverpool Street. So did a pigeon. It hid in its own seating well until we approached the station, and then just before the doors opened, it took off, meaning that when the doors did open it could exit the train above the boarding passengers. Presumably it wouldn't have to do this if pigeons were included in the usual "Please allow passengers off the train before boarding" message, although that's largely ignored either way.

The idea of a pigeon as a commuter conjured up all sorts of other ideas. The pigeon heading home to his wife and children, saying what a rough day it had been and how busy the tube was. Perhaps he worked in an office in the city and was just changing for the Central Line to head back to his nest in Ealing? What did he do for a living? Did he have an oystercard? Did he use prepay or a travelcard?

I'm a kazoo - spelt Kay-Zed-Yu. And I'm not a trumpet or a didg'ridoo...

I bought a kazoo a couple of days ago. This was in no small way inspired by Swannee-Kazoo from I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue. I intend to put it to good use in a month or two, when I'll have a computer with gadgets attached to it, to pick up all the subtlety of its soothing tones. Last night I was walking past a busker playing "Sittin' on the dock of the bay" and he was just coming up to what I thought was the whistling solo. I reached into my bag, and put the kazoo in my mouth, before it occurred to me that playing along would probably oblige me to make a donation (and put him off his stride a little bit). But next time I'm passing a busker and they're playing something I know, I'm joining in...

London, Peterborough and London again

So I moved up to Corby Glen for a few weeks while I trained for my new job, in Peterborough. I have since made it back to London, on numerous occasions, but now, more permanently.

And in the last few weeks, the following mildly diverting things have happened.

• Elissa came up to Corby, saw a hedgehog for the first time, spotted two barn owls, and enjoyed Stamford's premier tourist attractions, Burghley House and the Gardens of Surprise. I recommend them to anyone with a good sense of humour.
• My family, plus Elissa, headed to Alton Towers. I encouraged a small boy to squirt my mother with a giant water gun. My sister drove too quickly.
• I travelled to London for the weekend, to record some bass. We recorded bass. It sounded alright.
• I watched a lot of the coverage of Glastonbury, and rued not going and seeing it in person. Next year, perhaps.
• I went to Hyde Park to see The Rascals (with guest appearance by Alex Turner), Dirty Pretty Things, Black Kids, Guillemots, The Wombats, Beck and Morrissey. This was my Glastonbury. And 50,000 people all sang "See I've already waited too long! And all my hope is gone!" and I got shivers up my spine. Beck was still better though, but purely on the basis of my knowing next to none of Morrissey's solo material.

And now I'm at work in London, keeping fingers crossed for a flat in Brixton, and generally enjoying finally being back where my life is. And life is good.