Paddington on the H&C
so...train up after work on Thursday. Hit Paddington about half ten in the evening. Being the kind of post-modern, 21st Century kind of gal (hell, even I have an iPod now...) organised by text to meet the darling L at the station as she was coming in from a friend's recital in Oxford...ah, such modern life, on-the-move kinda gals we are...
As I was early, the siren call of OCD behaviour whispered to me that the Paddington Hammersmith and City branch remained as yet uncollected. The big interchange at Paddington between the Mainline British Rail services and District & Circle and Bakerloo Underground lines are all grouped in a brightly lit, clean and shiny station, recently refurbished with tiling decorated with bits of technical drawings, very much hommage to IKB.
In contrast, Paddington on the H&C is like a dark & dirty secret; an above ground station shunted off to one side by way of a ramp at the far end of the mainline station building. But it is a separate ticket barrier, and is listed as a separate station on the map, so collect it I must.
I wheel my little pink trolley merrily up the ramp, all very accessible-friendly for those many people arriving at the terminus with luggage. But for some unexplainable reason at the top of the ramp is a set of three steps coupled with a pointless barrier at 45 degrees to negotiate. In the general scheme of Life's Big Annoyance's it was small fry, but as there seemed to be no value to the feature, it seemed one of those irritating beauracratic niggles, especially when wheely-case being tricky. And of course it would really stymie a wheelchair user. Then, on that score, any net gain to having a fully accessible ramp is negated by the fact that it's stepped access to the platforms anyway.
Down on the platforms is gloomy; yellowed low light a pointed contrast to the brighter vaulted expanse of Paddington proper, all filigree spandrels and fretted Victorian pride expressed in ironwork. No-one looks in the mood to help, but the best candidate is a chap conspicuously on his own at the far end of the station by the stairs. I feel guilty asking him as he has 'don't talk to me podbuds' in his ears , but on being interrupted from his private world is instantly friendly and captivated by the project. Sadly the light is so low the photo is unflatteringly dingy. Not fair to take up more of his time so I wander about a bit more trying to screw up the gumption to hassle some other poor stranger. Am having an attack of the shys, or maybe everyone is just looking so unbotherable.
But as it happens, as I'm trying to 'long-arm' it next to the destination boards, it's me that gets bothered. Member of LUL staff with don't-fuck-with-me expression asks me if I need any assistance. The manner of asking is that of a concerned person to a mental patient, more a 'do you have someone that looks after you?' enquiry than offering assistance. I've worked with the public myself long enough to recognise she fears I might start a long conversation about how sellotape is the work of the devil, and flying pixies have eaten all the chocolate and the stuff in the machine is fairy chocolate and therefore EVIL, before puking on her shoes or taking all my clothes of and singing Ten Green Bottles off key at full volume. Her tone of voice has the kind of undertow that says my questioner is trying to remember whether she remembered to pop on the stab vest that afternoon.
To allay her fears that I am not of the Tin Foil Underwear Brigade, I hurriedly explain that I'm not using a flash and am only taking personal photos, a conversational segueway that only adds to the confusion regarding my sanity as turns out she's not there to bust me for using a camera, but because they'd watched me wandering about the platforms randomly, dressed oddly, not getting on any trains and were 'concerned' about me (and let's face it, I'm wearing a mad hippie coat, singing to myself because I'm in a good mood and talking to strangers; this is not the behaviour of a normal Londoner). Apparently her and her supervisor were worried that I was lost. I got the feeling that their concern was more of a metaphysical rather than geographical conception of 'lost'. Bet they did 'rock paper scissors' to see who got to go talk to me, and she lost.
Anyway, situation regarding my grasp of the Underground system resolved, I cheekily asked her to take the picture for me. She was unsure at first because the 'supervisor would be watching' but she relented and took a few before we could get a decently unblurred one.
And here it is, courtesy of hardworking, put-upon LUL staff:
Paddington, H&C branch becomes station 94. I wander off back to the station to meet
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artnouveauho, still singing to myself as I trundle my wheeley-case, no doubt being followed all the way on the monitors.
