I think Smart Cities should look more like this:-
Friday 26 September 2014
Smart Cities
When you see publicity for Smart Cities they always seem to look something like this:
I think Smart Cities should look more like this:-
I think Smart Cities should look more like this:-
Sunday 4 November 2012
A Note from Aldwarke Rd in Rotherham
At Sheffield Station, the express to Edinburgh thunders out of the station.
From the sidings,a converted bus emerges.
This is the slow train to York.
A handful of passengers- a pretty girl, an elderly couple and a man with a bike - embark.
We depart.
At Meadowhell, a few all-night shoppers are ready for a fitful nap as we rattle our way to Rotherham.
We pass under a cobbled motorway on a viaduct of dreams and fumes.
The railway cuts a clear path between the backs of SuperSavers and CostCutters.
On the canal, a flock of swans, serene in their white beauty, congregate at the Garden Centre.
We will shortly be arriving into Swinton.
Blue signs point the way through the park.
Here we take the road less well travelled.
Call centres glower at the green fields.
A few cars glide by the regenerated slag heaps.
A pale sun glimpses out from a wispy sky as we enter Elmet. The ghost of Ted Hughes is present in the autumn colours, the sky now glowering.
Pylons trace the route between the cooling towers, visible many miles away in the cyclist's bedroom, and the townships of Elmet.
At Moorthorpe, a few punters sip coffee in the smart cafe that has replaced the derelict pub. Where once men in flat caps sat supping pints, a yummy mum sips a cappuccino and talks to her mobile as her child vies for her attention.
The couple who board the train are very proper. They sit upright and speak politely to each other.Trouble is, they have nothing to say.
Going over to Susan's house, da da dah.
Soon we will be at Ponte Carlo. The dreaming towers of Cas Vegas beckon in the near distance.
Branches from doomed ash trees reach out and grab at the carriage, hoping to be carried far away so they can infect the pristine trees of the North West. If you're traveling the North Country way...
Once this was a lifeline between Elmet and Hallam. Archeologists made the journey to explore the remains of the kingdom of Elmet. Now, solicitors on temporary contracts make the journey in battered Renault Fives, to explore with their clients the breakup of the Modern Marriage.
At Ferrybridge the waters of the Ouse, churn and boil congratulating themselves on another successful flooding of the City of York.
The Cooling Towers dwarf the Bus on Steel Wheels as it rattled past. A coal train unloads imported coal from Poland, to be converted into charged-up mobile phones and gases ready to make their way into the North Atlantic storm system. Hi, I'm Sandy.Pleased to meet you, hope you guessed my name.
'Ello luv, yer a'right?"
The track widens as we prepare to join the Main Line.
The tips of winter crops peek out from the fields. Blue and red coal trucks guard our passage and the Bus On Steel Wheels lets out a pathetic bleat as it rattles over the points.
Lets hope our signalman is alert - a real train would ride up over this tin can and squash it, leaving nothing but the remains of a folded-up Brompton to mark the cyclist's passage.
Sherburn-in-Elmet & Church Fenton mark the furthest reaches of our journey before the towers of the Minster emerge from the plain. Our driver nips into the budleia for a pee.The conductor looks perplexed.
With the train doors open, a cool breeze mixes with the dry heated air. Could this be Arkenfield? I fear not.
The wait at Fenton is longer than anticipated and the electric box tells the cyclist that we will be half an hour late. This may affect the demonstration of a mobile speed camera that the cyclist intends to attend.
Other trains wait in lines at red lights, tentatively inching their way up the line. What awaits them? A fallen tree? A jumper who has despaired of his broken life?
A failed telephone system is the cause. Woe betide the farmer who launches his tractor onto the line, if he has failed to inform the signalman of his intentions.
Now the wires that convey the juice that gets the luvvies of London to the festival in Edinburgh hang limp above the Bus With Steel Wheels. Everything is moving much faster than we are.
Golden colours and the low roofs of bungalows announce our arrival into York. The BWSW makes a last growl as it rattles its way under the historic arched roof of the station, to tuck into an island platform well away from the Route of the Flying Scotsman.
From the sidings,a converted bus emerges.
This is the slow train to York.
A handful of passengers- a pretty girl, an elderly couple and a man with a bike - embark.
We depart.
At Meadowhell, a few all-night shoppers are ready for a fitful nap as we rattle our way to Rotherham.
We pass under a cobbled motorway on a viaduct of dreams and fumes.
The railway cuts a clear path between the backs of SuperSavers and CostCutters.
On the canal, a flock of swans, serene in their white beauty, congregate at the Garden Centre.
We will shortly be arriving into Swinton.
Blue signs point the way through the park.
Here we take the road less well travelled.
Call centres glower at the green fields.
A few cars glide by the regenerated slag heaps.
A pale sun glimpses out from a wispy sky as we enter Elmet. The ghost of Ted Hughes is present in the autumn colours, the sky now glowering.
Pylons trace the route between the cooling towers, visible many miles away in the cyclist's bedroom, and the townships of Elmet.
At Moorthorpe, a few punters sip coffee in the smart cafe that has replaced the derelict pub. Where once men in flat caps sat supping pints, a yummy mum sips a cappuccino and talks to her mobile as her child vies for her attention.
The couple who board the train are very proper. They sit upright and speak politely to each other.Trouble is, they have nothing to say.
Going over to Susan's house, da da dah.
Soon we will be at Ponte Carlo. The dreaming towers of Cas Vegas beckon in the near distance.
Branches from doomed ash trees reach out and grab at the carriage, hoping to be carried far away so they can infect the pristine trees of the North West. If you're traveling the North Country way...
Once this was a lifeline between Elmet and Hallam. Archeologists made the journey to explore the remains of the kingdom of Elmet. Now, solicitors on temporary contracts make the journey in battered Renault Fives, to explore with their clients the breakup of the Modern Marriage.
At Ferrybridge the waters of the Ouse, churn and boil congratulating themselves on another successful flooding of the City of York.
The Cooling Towers dwarf the Bus on Steel Wheels as it rattled past. A coal train unloads imported coal from Poland, to be converted into charged-up mobile phones and gases ready to make their way into the North Atlantic storm system. Hi, I'm Sandy.Pleased to meet you, hope you guessed my name.
'Ello luv, yer a'right?"
The track widens as we prepare to join the Main Line.
The tips of winter crops peek out from the fields. Blue and red coal trucks guard our passage and the Bus On Steel Wheels lets out a pathetic bleat as it rattles over the points.
Lets hope our signalman is alert - a real train would ride up over this tin can and squash it, leaving nothing but the remains of a folded-up Brompton to mark the cyclist's passage.
Sherburn-in-Elmet & Church Fenton mark the furthest reaches of our journey before the towers of the Minster emerge from the plain. Our driver nips into the budleia for a pee.The conductor looks perplexed.
With the train doors open, a cool breeze mixes with the dry heated air. Could this be Arkenfield? I fear not.
The wait at Fenton is longer than anticipated and the electric box tells the cyclist that we will be half an hour late. This may affect the demonstration of a mobile speed camera that the cyclist intends to attend.
Other trains wait in lines at red lights, tentatively inching their way up the line. What awaits them? A fallen tree? A jumper who has despaired of his broken life?
A failed telephone system is the cause. Woe betide the farmer who launches his tractor onto the line, if he has failed to inform the signalman of his intentions.
Now the wires that convey the juice that gets the luvvies of London to the festival in Edinburgh hang limp above the Bus With Steel Wheels. Everything is moving much faster than we are.
Golden colours and the low roofs of bungalows announce our arrival into York. The BWSW makes a last growl as it rattles its way under the historic arched roof of the station, to tuck into an island platform well away from the Route of the Flying Scotsman.
Friday 7 September 2012
So what's with Mr Heaton?
Funny old night with Paul Heaton at the Plug last night. The support band, Section 60, were a sort of bunch of sub-Oasis Mancunian rockers - not my cup of tea really, but they made a visceral sort of noise.
Paul Heaton came on with a great band and treated us to some of his fabulous songs, both old and new, including a couple of acapella tunes, one of which being Caravan of Love which of course brought the house down. The audience was an interesting mix - probably a fair number of out-of-towners and as much interested in having a drink and chatting as listening to the music. Heaton gave us a bit of a spiel about Hope not Hate, and a joke which went down well with a Sheffield audience "the only people who can run faster than Jennifer Ennis in Sheffield are Wednesday fans" which seemed to go down well. For the last number, however, he threw his guitar down on the stage (the only song he'd used it for) and stormed off. The band looked a bit nonplussed but finished the song, not difficult as the audience were singing it anyway. Calls for encores looked to be unanswered so we left. So what got into him?
Tuesday 3 January 2012
Why I love Sheffield Forum
Poster 1: Can anyone tell me what's happening to the High Greave? Went
past this morning and the pub sign has been taken down
past this morning and the pub sign has been taken down
Poster 2: supposedly been bought by a funeral director & being turned
into a funeral parlour
Poster 3: Still the same clientèle then.
--
Simon
Tuesday 2 December 2008
Wednesday 13 August 2008
Go south? NFW!
This report says the North is failing ang we should all up sticks and move North. No F*cking way! I came up here to escape from the south in 1974 and things have just got worse down there ever since. I'm not going back!
Actually the North isn't doing too badly but in all seriousness what is needed is to improve communications links between the south and the both (High Speed Rail for example) to encourage inward investment.
Actually the North isn't doing too badly but in all seriousness what is needed is to improve communications links between the south and the both (High Speed Rail for example) to encourage inward investment.
Sunday 1 June 2008
Skype have ripped me off
I've just had an email from Skype saying that as I haven't used my credit account for 180 days they've stolen my money from me. I will no longer be using this bunch of crooks.
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