Good service... from Connex?

Tonight I got to Flinders Street to find the platform absolutely chockers. "Great," I thought. "Looks like I'll be playing the anxiety ridden guessing game again because there are delays."

Just as I was thinking this, a guy came up beside me and explained that he was a Connex staff person who'd just gone off duty. He told me why there were delays, confirmed that they were on my line and then took me up to the on duty person. The on duty platform assistant kept me up to date with what the announcements were saying because there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell I'd hear them.

Eventually they decided that people should hop on the trams which run roughly the same route as the train line. For me, this would have meant getting on a tram route I've been on once before, so I have no real way of landmarking or timing the trip properly. Hearing announcements is out at peak hour with a tram full of noisy people. Seeing stop numbers is always out. I'd be reliant on the tram driver to remember where I needed to get out, and then I'd be finding my way home from a stop I've been to once before. My experience is that public transport drivers aren't always good at remembering they've got a disabled person to drop off, and that's doubly true when it's crowded peak hour public transport. It's human nature rather than incompetence.

I explained this to the assistant who got on her magic radio. By this point I'd been joined by a blind bloke heading further out than me. After a minute or two, the decision was made: Connex would pay for the other blind person and I to share a cab to our respective destinations. Five minutes and some perfectly competent sighted guiding later, I was in a taxi heading home. I've already sent Connex a burbling email thanking them, and my platform assistant especially, for such good service.

Yay! Somebody Got It Right!

On Children's Books

Buying presents for my nieces has always been a problem. Sometimes it's a problem because I try my best to avoid cutesy pink clothes, even when my sister has requested that I give them clothing and the only thing in Target is a swathe of fairy floss shades. Then there are the problems caused by wanting to buy them books, which are entirely different. It's Baby Bird's birthday soon so that's what I spent Wednesday night doing.

The biggest problem is that I get completely absorbed in the beautiful and engaging picture books which abound these days. This might not sound like much of a problem until you get to the bit where I have to pick a finite number to leave the shop with, usually only one or two. It's incredibly difficult, especially if I have to make a choice in a finite period of time. I really should have learned by now not to go into the children's book section half an hour before the shop closes.

Fortunately, there are some kinds of books I like better than others. I like books with pictures that pull you into the world of the story rather than simply echoing what's on the page. I'm not quite sure what the distinction is, but I suspect it's a couple of things. Bringing the text into the picture instead of having them be two separate entities helps. Having the picture give meaning to an abstract set of words is good, as is making simple words seem more meaningful with more complex pictures which carry light and shade. I was perusing through the 'older' picturebooks mostly; you see much more simple, two dimensional, narrative stuff in the younger books, which makes sense. It's nice that Baby Bird is at the age where I can choose richer things.

Content is a bit trickier, even though I'm now operating with some idea of Baby Bird's current reading level. In my view, the ideal book for a kid has to have language which is mostly stuff they'll manage okay, but with some difficult words or new concepts thrown in. With my sister's kids I'm also careful about picking out books which might require high parental enforcement: this left me quietly sad that I would never be able to buy them any of Shaun Tan's picture books, which are beautifully illustrated, simply written stories about subjects children aren't readily exposed to, like depression, war and the interlopers who push the indigenous down. They'd be great for the Sundance Kid and maybe Miss Muffet, who could read at an eight to ten year old level, I think. But there's no way anyone in their house could discuss the underlying themes with them.

I ended up choosing a book purely on instinct. It's called The Tickle Tree and its about using your imagination to go to fun places. The language is very Jabberwocky, the words aren't in straight lines and after thinking about why I chose it, maybe I'm hoping that the notion that she can close her eyes and go to other places in her head will help Baby Bird to stop physically running every time the front door opens. Not that wanting to get out of her family home isn't a commendable instinct, but it's also not a safe one in a six year old.

Of course all this careful planning and scoping isn't going to make her like the damn thing.