Shepherds Bush is a State Secret!

After a mighty fine portion of Lebanese cuisine on the Uxbridge Road, a friend and I waddled merrily to down to Shepherds Bush Green. The place is awash with roadworks in preparation for the opening of the S@@tfield Centre. Needing to get South of the River, we ventured to the newly consecrated gateway to the Bush (only a year late, due to four feet of space) and waited patiently for our train to arrive.

In the meantime I took a snap of the overbearing pile of concrete.

Then my friend and I kept on talking.

'Excuse me, you're not allowed to take photos here.'

I looked down and saw the smartly dressed guard. After all, this is a brand new station.

'Oh sure mate, sorry about that'.

And I tucked my camera into my pocket.

'You are going to have to delete that last photo.'

I looked at my friend. It was 'that' look. The look that I get whenever a man tells me what to do.

Now, I am not outwardly confrontational (my cast may disagree). I work in transport so I am not going to mouth off on this guy, but I quite clearly believe in the greyness of such regulations and so realise the sometimes futile nature of actually enforcing some of the rules. I appreciate his stance, so of course I put away my camera. But I have a severe problem whenever a man insists that I do something. If it is a woman, I will bed over and obey. But for a guy...

So I smiled at my friend.

'No mate.'
'You have to.'
'Look, I appreciate that you're doing you're job. But I ain't deleting no photos. Now if you want me to delete the photo, you will have to throw me onto the tracks.'

The guard looked stunned that I had made such a suggestion. In a calm voice, I continued.

'I don't mind, I understand that you have a job to do. But there is no way I will delete this photo. Now, if you want to get rid of this photo, throw me onto the tracks. I don't mind.'

Shocked, the guard began to back away from me. He realised that I am actually nuts.

'Or if you don't want to throw me onto the tracks, then call the police'. They can get rid of the photo.'
'No, no, I won't call the police.'
'Okay.'
'The British Transport Pigs have an office up there. Theyll be down soon.'
'Okay mate.'

So I turned to my friend and continued talking.

'Yeah, I work in the transport, I understand it's a s**tty job.'

My friend looked bemused.

'Wait a minute, did I tell him to throw me on the tracks?'

We burst out laughing and our train arrived. Oh, and I suppose you want to see the offending photo:



(It really is a crap photo)

---

So, continuing my journey home, I saw this poster for sausage meat. I am not a pork eater, so this advert really does not turn me on, but I thought it would be great to share with you:



What attracted me to this ad? Was it the blazing red? The patriotic piece of phallus thrust in my eye line? The fact that it was quite clearly a London Thing?

Nope, it was the exclamation that this sausage contained 72% British Pork!

I wonder what's in the other 28%...suggestions?

(El D.)