pumpkinstrokemarrow

Today we were scheduled to go and hear Mitsuko Uchida (last heard by us about a year ago on 28th March) do Schubert piano sonatas at the Royal Festival Hall. Not altogether sure either that I was ready for an outing of this sort, which involves getting home towards midnight, or that sitting in the middle of a row in a full Festival Hall was very clever quite yet. The seating plan on their web site, or at least the only one that I could find, was not detailed enough to tell me whether we had aisle seats or not but the gent. behind the phone at the booking office was able to tell me that the concert was sold out and it was unlikely that I could swap for an exit friendly seat. He suggested that I turn up at the booking office in person today to see what they could do.

This involved the first challenge of the day, which I am pleased to say I rose to. Without support from BH, I made it all the way to the river, a long way past Worcester Park which was the furthest north I had made it hitherto. Bit of a blunder on the way though, as when buying my senior off peak day return to London, I managed to get one which was only good for Southern Rail. An error made quite easy by the ticket machines installed at Epsom Station. But I carried on, expecting the guards at Waterloo to let me off. But no, I got a very careful guard. No, I couldn't just buy a ticket from Clapham Junction, where the South West Trains and Southern Trains divide, because it was all too clear that I had made the whole journey with South West Trains. Sir would have to buy and entirely new ticket and maybe the people at Epsom would give me a refund on the first one when I got back. Sir also learned that our European friends are busily privatising their railways, some of them even thinking of chopping them up in the way that we have, the chopping up which made my mistake possible. My informant also thought that there were Tory hopes to do even more chopping here in the UK, with there now being plans to chop up Network Rail. Happy days! The unions involved are getting a bit restive. That being as it may be, armed with new tickets I emerged onto the concourse to be greeted by two policemen in body armour clutching at port what looked like assault rifles. I wonder if our police go in for the same Kalashnikovs which are favoured by our various enemies? Kalashnikov are very good value for money and might well win an open competition.

Onto the Festival Hall and managed to find the box office - moved from the lower regions where it was living last time I used it - to find that the concert was still sold out and that a swap was not an option. On the other hand I  turned out to be holding aisle seats - with the catch being that it was the centre aisle at the front of the hall. I wavered but decided that discretion was the better part of valour and opted for return. An option which was rather less friendly than that at the Wigmore Hall. When I had to return tickets there for a similar reason, they were content to do it over the phone and to do an instant refund whereas at the Festival Hall they wait until they have actually sold the return again and then post me a credit note, valid for a year, rather than credit my credit card account. We will see what turns up. Hopefully somebody will get better use out of them than I was going to. So failed the second challenge.

Back home, decided to visit the newly reopened tunnel under the railway line behind the Linton Centre, a late running compensation for the demolition of a foot bridge last year. A tunnel which, being slightly off the beaten track, is already decorated with various graffiti. Sundry rubbish scattered around the environs. The oddest feature is the lights where the sequence down one side is light, light, light, gap, gap, light, gasp, gap, light - while the other side is the other way around with light, gap, gap, light, gap and so on. What sort of design is that? At least the glass over the lights is now flush to the concrete. The first version had bulbous glass, with the bulbs standing out maybe six inches from the face of the concrete, a far too inviting target for the gents. who do graffiti. But a good thing nevertheless. It provides me with a middle version of the town walk, a bit longer than going back down Hook Road but not as far as going back through Ewell Village. More options must be good.