Saturday, July 15, 2006
On the bus
On Tuesday I caught the bus into town.
As I tend to commute to work and travel with the family using the car, its not something I do that often. We are fortunate to live on a main road with an excellent service, with a bus coming along every 6 minutes during the day, and a bus stop just a minutes walk.
One of the attractions/ disadvantages is the other passengers. I enjoy looking out at of the window and watching the world go by, without having to worry about the other traffic on the road for once. I can also listen in to the other passengers conversations.
There were a couple of middle aged ladies discussing the indiscretions of a neigbour. I'm not sure exacltly what she did but there were lots of sideways glances, whispered confidences, mumbled "you knows". What ever it was was very shocking and very discraceful! I almost considered getting off the bus early to hear the end of the conversation, but didn't. Perhaps thats why I like blogging. Its the enjoyment of hearing other peoples points of view.
I was going into town to visit the Birmingham Central Libary, so well beloved of Prince Charles, who described it as "looking like a place designed to burn books, rather than store them". It is not a pretty building, being a 1960's era brutalist concrete structure, but its not the worst building in the world, or even in Birmingham (which has more than its share of ugly buildings).
I am in the process of trying to trace my family tree. So far I have not unearthed any famous relatives (not that I'm expecting to). This involves time spent at the archives doing the leg work to confirm family stories or to put names to memories. I always knew that my granparents had lost three children in infancy (supposedly because they were too poor to see the Doctor (they needed 6 old pence) but never knew their names. I suppose in a way they now have a memorial of sorts.
The National Trust (http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/main/) has opened a restored block of back to back houses in the City Centre. If you ever get the chance to go they are fantastic. Each house is furnished to reflect the people living in them over the time they have been built. As much as I love the stately homes that the National Trust preserves but my paternal grandparents lived in houses like this, so it is living history. I remember my father saying that he thought that everyone had an outside toilet that froze up in the winter until he was 17 and went into the Royal Air Force.
As I tend to commute to work and travel with the family using the car, its not something I do that often. We are fortunate to live on a main road with an excellent service, with a bus coming along every 6 minutes during the day, and a bus stop just a minutes walk.
One of the attractions/ disadvantages is the other passengers. I enjoy looking out at of the window and watching the world go by, without having to worry about the other traffic on the road for once. I can also listen in to the other passengers conversations.
There were a couple of middle aged ladies discussing the indiscretions of a neigbour. I'm not sure exacltly what she did but there were lots of sideways glances, whispered confidences, mumbled "you knows". What ever it was was very shocking and very discraceful! I almost considered getting off the bus early to hear the end of the conversation, but didn't. Perhaps thats why I like blogging. Its the enjoyment of hearing other peoples points of view.
I was going into town to visit the Birmingham Central Libary, so well beloved of Prince Charles, who described it as "looking like a place designed to burn books, rather than store them". It is not a pretty building, being a 1960's era brutalist concrete structure, but its not the worst building in the world, or even in Birmingham (which has more than its share of ugly buildings).
I am in the process of trying to trace my family tree. So far I have not unearthed any famous relatives (not that I'm expecting to). This involves time spent at the archives doing the leg work to confirm family stories or to put names to memories. I always knew that my granparents had lost three children in infancy (supposedly because they were too poor to see the Doctor (they needed 6 old pence) but never knew their names. I suppose in a way they now have a memorial of sorts.
The National Trust (http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/main/) has opened a restored block of back to back houses in the City Centre. If you ever get the chance to go they are fantastic. Each house is furnished to reflect the people living in them over the time they have been built. As much as I love the stately homes that the National Trust preserves but my paternal grandparents lived in houses like this, so it is living history. I remember my father saying that he thought that everyone had an outside toilet that froze up in the winter until he was 17 and went into the Royal Air Force.
Labels: family history, family. national trust
# posted by Mark @ 11:51 PM 
