Archive for railway

Hornby King

Posted in canon, canon g10, copyright, foam, hornby, Humour, image, internet, media, model railroad, model railway, modelling, photography, trainspotting with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 8, 2014 by norvenmunky

Hornby Today Hornby’s Press department released an image (see above) of the latest Hornby product to be announced. In an unusual step they are allowing anybody to reproduce the image, it being “royalty” free.

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Paradise City

Posted in canon, canon g10, entertainment, environment, exhibition, Humour, internet shopping, life, London, london underground, media, model railroad, model railway, modelling, photography, rail, travel, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on January 2, 2011 by norvenmunky

Albert Square 2010

Albert Square

We’ve all got our idea of a Paradise City, places we’ve been, lived, worked, read about, well this is mine, unashamedly, London. Where it all started was Lambeff, Albert Square to be precise, not that crappy beeb London one, but the real, sahf of the riva, see above. I never really thought about why I felt such an affinity with the Kings Cross area when I worked there, but re-visiting pictures it seems that the similar architecture of Georgian three storey architecture with basements and Portland stone probably made an impact on the two year old NM prior to heading out of town, a relief then to realise it wasn’t just the drink, prostitutes and drugs that captivated me on my return. Sometimes I wasted my money on toy trains.

MRM Kings Cross London

That led me to working at the Model Railway Manufacturing Co. Ltd. of York Way. The building has survived the recent development of the area and is now a restaurant. That will be somewhat ironic for the previous staff members who worked there, in that you can now order food to be eaten in the building, rather than using our shop intercom from three buildings away. That could be used, (allegedly), to order food in a cafe, Renzo’s, (three doors away), much to the dissapointment of the proprietor whom on opening an unsummoned dumb waiter, was to see ‘Dooamaneg’ glaring balefully at him on a grease laden sloppy plate…

The friendships built up there still last to this day, some of the antics still bring a wry smile to the face. As youngsters into ‘London’ it was important to find out the area, so we had a street map on the wall, theoretically, for customers who pre googlespace/mytube/facetwatter, wanted to know how to get from place to place. Well there was only one way to find out. Research.

St Pauls

There wasn’t a reseach budget as such, just an unerring faith in our ability to leave the shop at 13:01pm (without a map), ‘RLF’ for twenty to twenty five minutes, and then deliberately find a different route back to be through the door at 13:59pm. The result then being plotted on the map using the shop as the centre and a radius/range being drawn in with a compass. Therefore if a customer asked how long it took to walk to X, you could theoretically give an answer …

Thames from the 'right' side of the river ...

Now, Nm’s regular readers will already be seeing ‘potential’ for interesting and frank, free flowing discussion with ‘management’ on return to the shop, and to be fair there were a few occasisions when such discussion took place. I can recall one particular return trip that went ‘a bit wrong’. We’d headed south to Holborn, via Bloomsbury on a beautiful spring day, but had headed back to route up Grays Inn road. We’d been a bit too long and it wasn’t the first time we’d been bollocked for being late, so the pressure was on. The lack of map bit us here and we were actually lost but continued ducking and diving up side streets to head north. We came across a small playing field and thought we could see a way out at the far end, so we were ‘safe’ and stated to walk. At the end of the field we came to a brick wall, literally, about 8ft high, too high to see over. Doing the old schoolboy run at it and jump, scrabble up and sit on the top worked. The only problem there was, was a concrete yard the other side but with a bigger drop, and expensive cars, probably a law firms parking area. A shout and we simultaneously took our chance and dropped into the yard, splitting in opposite directions, just like the filums. We exited through two different gates running, followed by shouts of very rude words, from an old boy presumably in charge of ‘security’ having served on the Russian Convoys, and used to chasing cabin boys all over the decks. We got back to the shop in time for a summary bollocking, and every siren that sounded that afternoon had us on tenterhooks.

What it did do was to provide a better than ‘the knowledge’ knowledge of the part of North London around the Kings Cross area, including all the street life that entailed.

Trafalgar Square

Street life occaisionally came into the shop, where it was the job of whoever wasn’t ‘busy’ to remove them. Nm had a absolute pearler of a case where he very quickly learnt one of lifes lessons, this was re-inforced by ones colleagues ‘QFO’ing as soon as they realised the Quatermass pit sized whole Nm had dug himself. A lady came into the shop, looking a little distressed, but nothing un-usual to raise alarm bells. (Even at that time Nm was pretty streetwise, being able to identify a pimp/pro/ned/alchy/smackhead at twenty paces). It was a lunchtime, ‘may I use your toilet she asked?’, seemed reasonable, didn’t smell odd, she looked alright, ‘clean’, if you know what I mean, if you don’t … Well, yep Nm says and showed her the way (to the bog).

After about five mins she hadn’t re-appeared. Helpfull comments and queries such as ‘is she still in there?’ from my colleagues rapidly followed, countered with ‘Yeh, she’s probably reading a paper or summat’ from an increasingly intrigued worried Nm. Well a good half an hour passed, questioned through the door, ‘are you alright luv?’ from Nm, his colleagues helpfully asking ‘how are you going to get her out then?’ When on Top Gear one of the guys gets left by the others whilst taking the piss as they leave is just so true, it’s almost a right of passage, and when it happens to you with the right bunch of mates it almost makes it alright. Now the crapper was on the stairs and Nm had to hovver near it to appear like he was just going for one whenever the bosses appreared, to prevent them asking any awkward questions, like ‘WTF is the smackhead doing in the crapper?’

After a good hour or so Nm was thinking I’m going to
a/ have to go in, but the door is locked from the inside …
b/ tell the boss the smell isn’t in fact one of Bri’s unholy ones
c/ just run away

There was a dreadful groaning from the crapper, which was peculiar for Nm. It at least meant that the tart wasn’t dead, but filled him with the dread of getting the aforementioned ‘trollied’ bint out of the shop, negotiating her past a counter full of customers, ‘interested’ colleagues and a security camera attached to a CCTV. The thought of dragging or firemans lifting an unconscious bird through the shop and being caught on camera (again) just filled him with ‘bowell water’ making fear. It is at these times that you realise why adrenaline is brown and leads to real moments of fear inspired brilliance. There were two front doors to the shop, No14 and No12, No12 rarely used. If the bint could be steered through the rear stock room, past the phone and map to No12, there was a real chance she could be released into the wild relatively discretely. So Nm managed to lift the latch of the door at No12, easing it shut so the boss couldn’t see it was open, and as soon as the bint opened the door to the karzi, at about the hour + fifteen mark, he very quickly shoved, escorted her to the other door where on leaving she belched a projectile stream of the foulest smelling puke Nm’s ever had the displeasure to encounter. Well you’ve read the blog, you can easily imagine…
Nm slammed the door behind her and turned to see the boss who had come down the other stairs looking at him very oddly. ‘Whats up’ he said?, ‘Oh just some drunken tart who’s puked in 12’s doorway’ Nm straightface replied. Seemed to work. There were a few comments re the whiff from No14’s crapper though, it stank as though someone had emptied the entire waste contents of Smithfield, Covent Garden and Billingsgate and a bit of soggy cardboard into the smallest room. Nm gave it a quick clean, and declared it clear of sharps and fit for use, (the tart that is, not the bog).

In true team spirit the smell was blamed on Bri.
It’s what mates are for.

Millenium Bridge

Albert Sq piccies from http://www.flickr.com/photos/sczscz/

Better Days

Posted in Bachmann, model railroad, model railway, modelling, Uncategorized, vi-trains with tags , , , , , , , on January 2, 2009 by norvenmunky

img_01493

Well Auntie Vi has finally let a good one rip! Unfortunately for the members of the foaming community, there appears to be not a great deal to actually moan about. There is of course the almost obligatory error on the livery on at least two of the releases, but then it wouldn’t really be a toy train without one. So far there are perhaps two of them where the crayons have been applied and gone outside the lines a bit. Me, I can live with that. Its a bit like having a young child, as they get the hang of ‘stuff’ you give them more encouragement, to stretch themselves, and temper it with constructive criticicsm.
You can see from the picture above, I’ve actually held one in my hand, this puts me in a small number of people who can now talk bollox about it, having actually seen it, run it, and taken Auntie Vi’s top off …

img_0165

Its dissapointing to report that it looks like one, and runs like one, (It pulls more than Mr Lind at a $10 wife ‘cab rank’), and has more stuff in the box than a train load of binkers are ever likely to achieve with Julia Bradbury.

Here we see Auntie Vi sandwiched between two Chinamen, the one on top being a class 57, and the bottom being a class ’57’, sorry, ’47’.
img_0171

The bottom dweller here, is in fact a modified Chinaman, yes its had the op, and I’ve taken the knife to it, and had to rebuild quite a bit below the belt. It’s something I’d rather not do. Below the belt with Auntie Vi is particularly interesting, all the bits are there, and everythings in proportion, there’s no un-needed pipework that needs removing and you get that warm comfortable feeling as the equipment just ‘fits’. The Chinaman however needs quite a few screws to make sure his bottom doesn’t end up all over the work shop floor.
img_0158

Here we can see Auntie and the Chinaman with their tops off, and Auntie is a little lower cut than the Chinaman. I don’t see any particular problem with AC/DC or even DCC fitting, in fact Auntie may even be more accomodating in this respect, whether you’ll hear the sounds of flange squeal in due course, is yet to be determined.
img_0174

I can also report Auntie’s been measured.
img_0172

Auntie did this herself, and was very pleased as she could still comfortably accomodate the box she normally offers to her ‘regulars’. There have been reports that she stands too tall, by all of 1 millimetre, but the rest of her proportions and curves appear very easy on the eye.

The Chinaman is reported to be undergoing surgery (below the belt) in preparation for a ‘release’ later this year. Hopefully this op will go well and we’ll see him with very similar equipment to Auntie below the skirt,
img_0152

I will also be interested to see if he still runs at ‘half mast’, post op, as well …

Murder Incorporated

Posted in Deltic, Humour, life, rail, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , on August 20, 2008 by norvenmunky

Yup the faaashist pigs maan theyre at it agayne. Yup the potential of a private individual with his own Deltic ‘toy train’ D9016 55016 or Gordon Highlander, and its sale (or not), has generated more foam than a banana in the sump of a 1978 Beige Allegro.
Mr Sheepskin ‘They all do that guv, Allegro’s like’,
What? Foam like fuck when you throw a banana in the engine?
Mr Sheepskin, Yeh! …

Well its all about money in the end. The unconfirmed situation so far, because none of the foamers has got off their bums on any of the forums, and got a definitive answer on what the status is.
A bloke owns a toy train.
He may or may not have sold it to another bloke who owns a scrap yard, amongst other businesses. Murder Inc.
And that’s about it really. A real frail grasp on the big picture. Business as usual.

This means they have to contact the owner of the loco, or last known owner to establish who owns it and is it for sale. If anyone cared enough that would have been done and a known status would be the result. Then if its for sale someone who cared enough, and had some credibility, could raise the finance or dip into the wad of cash under the bed, (presumably from the sale to Spillers for cat food tins, of the least photographed member of the class, 55023 Shergar), and buy it.

It matters not if they can offer the lavatory seat from 55023 for the driver to sit, (yes sit) on, cash talks. It only talks if the owner wants to sell however, and with such an item, it’s the dealer/owner that sets the price they want, not an arbitrary figure snatched out of someone’s Ian Allan ABC of scrap metal prices, 1984 edition. It’ll be a commercial number too, so that’ll have noughts after it. So when someone asks ‘Is it bigger than a dog?’ you’ll be able to answer hand on heart ‘Yes!’.

So your options/starters for 10 are
A/ Do something
B/ Do Something
C/ DO SOMETHING

There is of course a way to make money and thats with a publicity drive, a quick interweb search for Deltics provided this image of a bevvy of ‘swamp donkeys’. Using it I’m sure foaming snake milkers would provide buckets full of ‘donations’.

Les âne du marécage

Les âne du marécage

Still if sitting on your bum, doing cock all, is what it’s about for you, you can take heart from Westlife, can’t lose what you never had …