TRAINS OF THOUGHT

Well, I haven't published an edition of The Autolycan for ages, and I've missed doing it!  We were very busy with Hull City of Culture things during 2017, and this has all continued this year and will for a long time to come.  It's been an extraordinary year and a bit for Hull and we've been able to welcome loads of friends and visitors.  But I have now come across a headline which I felt I couldn't let go.  The headline is about Ruislip and that's the area of Greater London where I grew up - Northwood Hills to be precise which is why I feel at liberty to be rude about the place!  For my American friends by the way, HS2 is a proposed high speed train line, initially linking London with Birmingham.  The cost as I type is put at £56 billion, but will probably have gone up by the time you read this.

I hope this story isn't a one-off, and will try to keep them coming when I can.  Hope you like it and if so do please forward the link to friends or Like it on Facebook.

TRAINS OF THOUGHT

HS2 excavations uncover prehistoric subtropical coastline in Ruislip, West London

The Guardian

Mrs Ug hated Saturdays. Saturday was changeover day at the Ruislip Sands Golden Beaches Guest House that she and Ug had run for years. Not that Ug had ever been much help, she reflected. Ug liked to see himself as the thinker and planner, the brains of the business, to which end he had awarded himself a variety of fancy titles over the years. Firstly he was Development Co-ordinator, but when Erf at the Ruislip Redondo next door (Relax in the Redondo - Ruislip's Most Resplendent Resort Rendezvous!) had tried to outdo him by becoming Planning Manager Ug had retaliated by appointing himself as Strategic Director. The battle had escalated and Ug now signed himself as Chief Executive and Financial Comptroller, and was keeping President of Global Vision up his sleeve in case of further impertinence from next door. 'She does the operational stuff, I'm the visionary' he would say to the disappointingly small number of people who would listen to him. 'Oh yes. You've got to have a vision.'

Mrs Ug sighed. Although the sign in the breakfast room read 'Breakfast served from 8am to 8.30am ONLY. Early or latecomers will not be admitted. The Management of the Golden Beaches wishes you a nice day' there was always somebody who wanted to get away early on changeover day, and Ug had produced one of his Strategy Documents requiring operational staff to comply with their wishes. So this morning Mrs Ug had been in the kitchen since 5am and now had all the cleaning and bedding to deal with. She hoped there would be plenty of clean straw in the market. Sometimes there wasn't and she had to wash and dry the used stuff and it was never the same.

She looked at the room list. They were going to be full again. And the guests were from far and wide – Wealdstone, Rayners Lane, even Northwood Hills! She wasn't convinced about that last one. Years of Ug's relentless multicultural training had taught her to be welcoming and inclusive, but she wasn't entirely sure that civilisation had extended that far. She'd get Uglette to put out napkins without rings for them and chain the ketchup bottle to the table. She'd had to do that once before when she'd had folks from nearby Pinner.

Ug meanwhile, along with his son and junior partner, FitzUg, had chosen today to squeeze in a Corporate Management Awayday, which involved immersing themselves in the sights and sounds of the beach. There were Dads building complex structures out of sand for the supposed benefit of sullen and indifferent toddlers, young girls struggling to get changed under the breezily inadequate cover of a few old rags and older teenagers slinking off in pairs towards the dunes over at Eastcote. Harassed Mums were trying unsuccessfully both to get the sand out of woolly mammoth sandwiches and to appease furious daughters dragged back from Eastcote by irate fathers. Little ones recoiled in perhaps justifiable horror from the contents of the rock pools, grandmas wearing sun hats emblazoned with embarrassing slogans like Come and make a splash with me! paddled at the water's edge and various organised games were taking place which Ug couldn't help feeling would be immeasurably improved if only someone could invent a spherical object which rolled and bounced. A project for the long winter months for FitzUg, he thought.

Back at the Golden Beaches Mrs Ug's day was not going well. A departing couple from Ickenham were arguing about the bill because they were used to having plenty of rats in their room at home, and didn't regard a few cockroaches, however large, as an adequate substitute. Some new arrivals from Hatch End were outraged to find glass in the windows and a door blocking the entrance. Mrs Ug was left in no doubt that you didn't find that sort of thing at home. Uglette, having refused to chain the condiments to the table for the family from Northwood Hills on the grounds that it amounted to harassment was busily constructing an ingenious argument that Mrs Ug's suggestion that they could take the glass out of the Hatch End couple's room constituted cultural appropriation. She might have to retreat to a safe space where she could look at pictures of kittens, or failing that take the afternoon off and go to Eastcote. On top of that the Council inspector had arrived on an unannounced visit to check that the open fire in the middle of the kitchen floor was large enough for the property (it wasn't) and that the roof was sufficiently porous to allow a good supply of running water (it wasn't and didn't.) She strongly suspected that this visit was the work of Erf next door, a dangerous tactic on his part since the Ugs knew full well that Erf failed to permit conmen, prostitutes and charlatans of all descriptions to conduct their business on his premises, in direct contravention of restraint of trade regulations. Mrs Ug sighed.

Ug and FitzUg, meanwhile, were busy with what Ug called his 'diversification strategy.' The animal rides, Ug noted, would terrify fewer children if the animals were smaller and furrier, rather than the ones they'd got here which had alarmingly aggressive tails and sported a fetching ruff of armoured plates around their necks. FitzUg pointed out – to his father's approval – that the Trips Round Ruislip Bay (See Ruislip as You've Never Seen It Before!) might sell better if you didn't have to sit astride a log which was prone to capsize at the approach of any one of dozens of ravenous and slavering beasts that made the Leviathan look quite cute. They spent a long time watching and discussing how best to monetise a game which nowadays would be known as beach volleyball, but back then in the absence of an actual volleyball, was called simply – and perhaps with more honesty than today – Lots of Attractive Young Women Running and Jumping Around With Nothing Very Much On.

When they'd had their fill of the beach volleyballers, Ug suggested somewhere conducive to what he called 'Blue Sky Thinking.' FitzUg had no idea what this meant, but went along with the idea when it transpired it involved considerable amounts of fermented liquor.

'So,' began Ug 'This vision what we need. Let's think a bit. First off, what do you reckon Ruislip's got going for it?'

There was a pause.

'Erm... the sun? Sand? Sea?' ventured FitzUg.

'Good! Let's write it down! Get a bit of flipchart paper!'

'A bit of what?'

'Oh, sorry. I got this grand vision of the future. One day it won't just be you and me sat here doing this, I foresee loads of us on these Strategy Awaydays – I foresee big conferences with plenary sessions and a speaker, breakout groups where you write stuff on flipcharts, back into the plenary........'

He faltered as he realised FitzUg was staring at him.

'Some visions of the future are better than others, Dad' observed FitzUg coolly.

Ug looked embarrassed. 'Yeah. Some visions of the future are better than others' he mumbled. 'It can be a bugger sometimes, foresight. OK,' he went on 'what have we got going against us?'

' No nightlife' said FitzUg without missing a beat.

'What's that?'

'Nightlife. Things to do after dark. Music, dancing, drinking games. Even.....' he tailed off as he looked wistfully towards Eastcote. But Ug was nodding vigorously.

'Yeah! We gotta have a unique selling point. Look at us – Ruislip, Harrow, Uxbridge even, we're all the same when it comes down to it. Ruislip's gotta be different, have an offer for all age groups! And if that means nightlife....'

'What about a funfair as well, Dad?' burst out FitzUg. 'What about a kiddies' zoo? Crazy golf? Fish and chips?'

'Hang about! What's all that?'

'Dad, I got visions too! I foresee piers with blokes on the end playing the organ. Seaside shops selling spades and buckets where the handle falls off soon as you try to use them. I foresee blokes with knotted handkerchiefs on their heads eating candy floss, glamorous grandma competitions.......'

They both sat back, exhausted.

'One thing, though' began FitzUg.

'What's that?'

'Well, if we're going to build all that, Ruislip will have to be a lot bigger. Bring in a lot more people.'

'Yeah....'

'So we can't just rely on places like Pinner and Harrow. Got to cast the net wider. Much wider.'

'Yeah....but, like, where?'

'Bring 'em in from places we've never even thought of before. Not just Watford, not just Brent Cross. What about Luton? Birmingham, even!'

'Birmingham! Where the hell's that?'

'Miles and miles away. It's a different world, Birmingham.'

'OK....... but.... how they gonna get here from Birmingham? It'd take weeks.'

'But Dad!, remember! I foresee things too! One day, I foresee, there'll be a big transportation system – like a long thin box on rails - capable of getting hundreds of people at a time from Birmingham to Ruislip in only about, what, 45 minutes! Got to invent the wheel first, it's true, but crack that and there'll be no stopping us! Costa del Ruislip, here we come!'

But Ug was shaking his head sadly.

'I don't see it, son' he said. 'Big thing like that, they won't stop it at Ruislip. It'll go straight through to London.'

'London! Where's that?'

Ug shaded his eyes from the sun as he stared out to sea.

'Out there' he said dejectedly, 'I foresee.... one day a big city will rise from the waves. London. I foresee.... a London Arena with Manic Street Preachers gigs, quirky bars with names like Dirty Harry's, New Generation Wrestling.... It'll be the end of Ruislip as a tourist destination.'

FitzUg was grinning.

'But Dad' he said 'big place like that, it'll need loads of people to work in it. They've got to live somewhere. Ruislip! We'll become Ruislip's leading property developers, estate agents, landlords....there's your diversification strategy!'

But Ug was frowning.

' I don't foresee that at all' he said. 'Even if they get a move on with that box on rails it could take months, years even.'

'No, no, Dad! They'll have strategic plans coming out of their ears, rigorous bidding processes, all that. I foresee umpteen consultation groups, a special House of Commons Select Committee, a government department keeping a tight grip on costs....'

But Ug was having none of it.

'No, son, no' he said, gently. 'By the time they'd got half way through all that, worked out how to build it all, how much it would cost, nobody wouldn't see no sense in building it no more.'