Today's letters: 7 January
Not a fair rise
I feel strongly that the recent train fare increases are unjustified. For as long as I can remember, commuters have had above-inflation fare increases. Only over the past 18 months have we received new trains on Southern which are offering some degree of comfort and beginning to meet standards of punctuality, even if I often have to stand for the full 35 minutes of my return journey. To cap everything, the new year’s timetable reduces the fast rush-hour service between Victoria and Three Bridges. This ongoing service deficiency is hardly a reason to increase fares. It’s just another example of rip-off Britain, especially in these times when we are all struggling to make ends meet. The Government should freeze fares until a quality service is provided.
MJF
Costly delays
To your columnist Michael (“New train price, same old service”, yesterday): you are on the same line as me and after nearly two weeks of arriving 10 minutes late to work, my manager asked me to think about changing my hours (I would lose up to £50 or £60 a month). So thanks, train operators. They should pay us to travel!
Sue, Chislehurst
Tintin’s double
I was amused by your story “Pegg up for Tintin role” yesterday. Simon Pegg is apparently being lined up to play one of Tintin’s sidekicks in the movie but, given his looks, wouldn’t he be the perfect choice for the lead role?
MATT
Sick of bitter Ken
Is there a more bitter man in the world than Ken Livingstone? The only good thing about his Boriswatch column (“No sign of the real Boris yet”, yesterday) is that we can’t actually hear his whining, Zippy-like voice. Get over it, Ken: not enough people voted for you.
Jem
Bra trouble
To your Man About Town, Andy Jones, who wrote about his difficulty in removing a girl’s bra (“Stuck in a booby trap”, yesterday). Whilst reading your article, I couldn’t help but wince. You men are bloody useless! I have an idea: how about you put one of your girlfriend’s bras on a pillow and practice? Just make sure she doesn’t catch you at it.
Chloe
Let’s take action
If we’re so annoyed about rising train fares, then why don’t we do something about it? If we keep paying but simply moan then nothing will happen. Whoever makes the first move, I’m right behind you!
Amanda, Surrey
Difficult to dismiss
On your question “Does Sharon Shoesmith deserve a payout in the wake of the Baby P scandal?”: of course not , but now the council will learn what we UK employers go through when trying to remove under-performing staff. Legal costs, company time, payouts – things are absurdly stacked in favour of the employee.
JP, Central London
Terror in Israel
Further to your articles on the Gaza crisis: I am Catholic and have lived in Israel with Jews and Arabs. Most of the population on both sides want to live in peace. But I do not think people around the world understand the mentality of these people that Israel is dealing with. Do you remember the 7/7 attacks? The people Israel are dealing with are terrorists. You don’t hear that Israel is permanently rocketed by these militants, with people on buses being blown up. People live in fear every day. It saddens me seeing all the innocent victims in Gaza, but what is Israel to do?
Tasha, London
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The brief respite from work was too short to achieve anything meaningful but long enough to make getting up at 6.30am again all the more difficult. Having over-indulged at Christmas, it’s time to lay off the bacon and egg sandwiches for breakfast and revert back to a wholesome bowl of muesli.
Opening the curtains in the morning seems a pointless task because it’s dark when you go out to work and darker still when you get home. It’s too cold to leave the house without extra layers, a hat and a scarf, yet within minutes of jumping on the Tube it’s uncomfortably hot and by the end of the trip you’re dripping with sweat.
It’s around this time of year you start to question the merits of a five-day working week. Five days at work, two days not at work – it just doesn’t add up. Time is passing before your eyes at an alarming rate, and you’re wasting the majority of it sat in an office when you should be out achieving your lifetime ambitions. Maybe it’s time to jack it all in and get on with what you really should be doing. There’s one problem though – you’ve been too busy at work and haven’t had time to figure out what that is.
No time like the present then. Best arrange to meet up with a friend, someone you can run through this whole five-day week madness with, just to make sure it’s not only you who is feeling aggrieved. Unfortunately, this is easier said than done and the days when you might stop for a swift half in the sun on the way home are a distant memory. No one’s interested in meeting up – it’s too dark, too cold and money’s tight until the end of the month. There’s no choice but to go home, draw your curtains and eat a healthy salad before an early night.
However, it’s not all bad news because somewhere in the middle of the drunken haze which was December, the winter solstice passed by and, without realising it, we’ve negotiated the shortest day of the winter already. So things are looking up from here on in.
Tom, 27, is an engineer living in Tottenham
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How wrong I was. The latest news was, in fact, about the rise in the cost of train tickets. When it comes to the new year, we expect the prices to jump a little – a few quid added on to our already-expensive commute to match inflation. But this year, rail companies have slapped a massive hike averaging about six per cent on to our travel.
I could have understood the big jump in price if the service the train companies provide had been top-notch; my train pulling in on time and leaving on time (maybe arriving at Charing Cross only one minute late would have been acceptable).
I could have understood the price hike if our daily journeys to work were comfortable, with trains running regularly to take the strain off for the thousands of people trudging their way into the office.
But no! All year long the trains have disappointed. Not just me, but nearly all commuters. Not only are the trains late nine times out of ten, they are also overcrowded and very uncomfortable.
At one point last year, the train that I catch was late for two weeks on the spin! I kid you not. I arrived at work late 10 days in a row. You try telling your boss the same excuse 10 times on the trot. It doesn’t wash. He will say, “Get the earlier train then.” But I shouldn’t have to.
Yes, the train companies have excuses. Leaves on the track! Signalling problems! It snowed! Hello, we are in England – it’s cold in winter and it snows.
My first commute of the new year, under the new price, was yesterday. Standing in the snow at the station, you could see the train lights in the distance edging closer. Yes, you guessed it, it was late again.
Michael, 25, of Hither Green, works as a driver
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MY inbox spills over around this time each year with outrageous analyst recommendations, like “Hot Stock Tips!” and “Top 10 Investments for 2009”. The herd instincts among these market prophets make sheep look like independent thinkers. As a response, I have this little tradition each New Year’s Eve where I make my own gambles on the direction the world will take.
Last January, I bet my colleague £200 that the Dow would fall lower than 11,000 by the end of the year (it was at 13,000 last January) and that Obama would win the US election. So with my two horses coming in, apparently I should be feeling pretty good about my womanly instincts at this stage. Curiously, I’m not.
We’ve kissed goodbye to a year nobody in the City will ever forget. Businesses all around the world are shutting. People are losing their jobs. Banks are repossessing houses. Prices are being cut. As our ephemeral wealth vaporises, my instincts are not telling me to take another gamble, but not to push my luck.
Prognosticating City bankers like myself are afraid to look into our crystal ball because if it reveals any more bad news on the horizon, then ignorance is bliss. Most of us grew up in an era where stocks “would always go up” in the long run, where houses would too, where jobs were always available... and oh yes, so was credit.
So I’m now wishing my psychic powers could morph into market-boosting ones. In other words, it’s only fun to be right about your “end of the world” predictions when that world’s not yours. I’m worried our options are exhausted. If the City’s “Plan A” is officially defunct, where we ride into the sunset on the profiteering market Bull, then we must be on “Plan B” where the Bulls have stopped dead in their tracks, snorting and spitting, surviving on taxpayer handouts. But my greatest fear for 2009 is things may just get so desperate, we will be forced to turn to “Plan C” – we eat the Bulls.
So what does the future hold for the City in 2009? I wouldn’t want to guess. But as for last year’s £200, it’s going under the mattress.
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A drunken challenge with a mate just over a year ago became a total lifestyle change for me. I agreed to give up alcohol, tea, coffee, fizzy drinks, take-aways, ready meals, sweets and pastries – plus I also pledged to do half-an-hour’s exercise (pushing the heart rate above 120 beats per minute) five times a week – for all of 2008. If that wasn’t bad enough, there was also the forfeit: my mate bet me I couldn’t do it. Whoever lost would have to get a tattoo of the other’s choice.
At first it was very difficult as all my habits had to change. No cup of tea in the morning, no croissants for breakfast, no chocolate bar, can of Coke or crisps for lunch, no side order of fries with that, no cheeky pint after work, no glass of wine with dinner.
Having got used to that, there was then the mental aspect of the challenge; a year is a very long time to resist temptation. And there were a number of people who were only too willing to tempt me and remind me of what I was missing. When your mates are doing tequila shots, fruit juice can be less enjoyable. Surely I’m not like that when I’ve been drinking, though?
Then in September I faced a new issue. As I’d been getting healthier, my heart rate had been dropping and it was getting harder and harder to get it above 120 bpm for half an hour (I was using a heart-beat monitor). A gentle jog around the park was no longer enough.
Still, I can’t complain too much about the exercise. A questionable haircut aside, I now look the best I’ve ever done, having gone from being a cuddly 14-stone, 34-inch-waist bear with a resting heart rate of 82 bpm to a svelte 12-stone, 30-inch-waist athlete with a resting heart rate of 35-45 bpm.
So now I’ve done it – and I’ve raised £1,000-plus for charity. And on New Year’s Day I was nursing the mother of all hangovers.
All I need to do now is choose a tattoo for my mate. A Spurs crest for an Arsenal fan, anyone?
Deb, 28, works in advertising and lives in Balham
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If it’s cold outside and I’m in a short dress with a bunch of similarly attired women, I have no qualms whatsoever about skipping the nightclub queue for a fast-track to my gin and tonic. If I find myself queueing this New Year’s Eve, I will definitely take advantage of the bouncers’ unwritten rule about giving priority to women.
I’ve never really been able to justify this behaviour to myself, especially as the reason the bouncers let us in first – to benefit men who apparently like clubs with more women – is another sign of our unequal society.
But after a certain superclub’s Christmas party, I’ve decided this discrimination exists for a very good reason – clubs full of men don’t have a good atmosphere.
The gender ratio on Friday was at least 70 men to every 30 women. At one point I looked around the dance floor and couldn’t spot a single other female. Instead, there was testosterone, sweaty shirtless backs and clumsy men tripping over my feet. The bouncers even had to break up a rumble on the dance floor – and it’s not often you see fist fights at clubs where nobody drinks beer.
As the night progressed, the boys realised their chance of a festive party pash was pretty low. Unable to find legitimately interested girls, some desperados decided that their pocket of MDMA meant I’d want them fondling me. Worse still, the few attractive females in the club noticed they were in demand and correspondingly turned on the attitude, pushing through the crowd like Paris Hilton heading to a VIP room.
Overall, the venue felt more like a footy club than a nightclub. So I say: bring on the sexist bouncers. Give girls free tickets, free champagne, priority entry, whatever it takes to even up those numbers. Yes, some blokes will be stuck in the cold for longer. But we will all ultimately have a better night of it.
Jane, 27, lives in Clapham
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