Objects: The Schoolbook

When I was about 9 years old,I had a rather strict class teacher named Mrs Lim. She was a petite, squat lady with short hair and thick glasses. Her clothing was rather old fashioned i.e. 1960's-cut dresses, flat shoes. She'd walk really fast through the corridors in a stomping fashion in a great hurry.

Back in the day, we wrote down our tasks in an A1 sized note pad bound in brown paper which we called 'Exercise Books'. Depending on which school you were from, the brown cover had the school badge printed in black ink. When we'd finish one (which was quick as they were rather thin), we'd staple the end cover of the old book to the front cover of the new book to create a compendium of previous notes and exercises.

These would be carried in our schoolbags to-and-fro; uniform blue dwarves (that was the color of our uniform) hoarding sacks of potatoes to school. If any one of us students came to Mrs Lim's class without our homework, there'd be hell to pay. No one escaped from not bringing homework to class as she'd call us one by one to her table so that she could scrutinize our unearthly scribblings. It was rather terrifying.

"Tangkachi! What kind of writing is this? Like 'cacing'only!!" (Cacing meaning 'worms' in Malay)
"What is this?? You call this writing ar??!!!" *Slap*


Thus came a couple of weeks of holidays where I was quite happy to enjoy it at home not doing very much except watching video re-runs of the 'Never Ending Story' and annoying my sister. As all good things come to end, the days whittled away leading to the unenviable task of packing our bags for school. First thing to go was the exercise book which I'd worked very early on so that I could enjoy the hols. And since it was done some time ago, I couldn't recall where I'd left it. Panicking, I looked in every possible nook in the house, including under the couch, on the glass table etc. I just couldn't possibly go to Mrs Lim's class without my homework! After much scrambling around, I was resigned to my fate. It was a hot Sunday, that afternoon and feeling drowsy, I fell into a deep sleep.

I dreamt that I went downstairs to the living room to the low glass coffee table looking for my exercise book. This time with a sure feeling, I found it - sitting right under my mom and dad's papers.

It was late evening when I woke to this revelation. Exactly as my dream instructed, I went down stairs and into the living room and lifted the stack of papers on the glass and table.

Lo and behold, there was my brown exercise book.

On the Starting Line...

You are standing at in the crowd, fidgety, crackling, fiddly. You've been here before - around you are the familiar sight of men and women in tights, garbage bags ponchos, GPS tracking gadgets, sweatbands, isotonic drinks belts. One or two even wrapped in their national flags like Supermen in the midst - albeit with trainers on . Some are stretching their legs, flexing muscles, shaking their arms loose. Some are talking and chatting - with friends which they've travelled all these miles to get here with , or with someone they happened to be standing next to.



" Are you running on your own?"

"Yes, I am. Looks like you'v done this many times before?"

"Oh this is probably my 5th"

"Wow - when was the last one?"

"The last was in Florida - a bit different from this one"

"Impressive! All the best to you!"

"And to you too!"



After this brief and single exchange with a total stranger, suddenly you feel a strong caramederie with everyone - "Yes! We are in this together...We're going to brave this 42km....May the Force be with us!" There's no mistaking the feeling of anticipation and excitement in the air all felt by these starters on the line- young, old, men, women, big, small, tall, short - the combined energy is unlike anything experienced so far. No matter how many times its been run, no matter where it may be, every single marathon is unique and once in a lifetime. And there's no doubt that anyone who's running, no matter fast or slow, will end it a winner.

Cold Runnings

Have been running weekends lately in preparation of the Big One next weekend. It's been 4 years since my last marathon and frankly don't feel quite prepared. The last long run was 3 weeks ago at 30k, slogging at 8mins/km at the 20th km onwards. When I lug my kit to work, I don't look forward to the run home. Am not sure why the gradual change in my receptivity to running. Maybe it's probably an ego thing. I don't do well in group runs as I'm always trailing behind in the nether back end of the pack - most times beating myself up for not keeping up - psyches me downwards. I probably did better when it was a lone sport . Nowadays the more I run, the slower I get and saps the joy out of it. Someone told me I'm doing 'junk runs' where the training is not 'training me up', but instead 'running me down'.Probably true. This marathon, my only aim is to finish and won't be bothered with my times - it's after all not a race, but a marathon.

Tube screamers 2

She leapt through the closing doors just seconds before it closed. However the doors still were unable to close as the little stuffed toy hanging at the end of the keychain which hung on her bag squashed between the squeezing metal. The force tore the metal clasp and the toy fell to the floor of the platform. The man witness it fall and picked it up, "You dropped your bear!" he said. She tried to retrieve it but couldn't in a split second as the doors of the train closed.

It's not a bear, it's a Swedish Elk

The man held it up to the glass. She stared through the train windows - unable possess it. "I wonder if he will keep it? Souvenir of a piece of someone else's past. Or will he bin it outside the tube station?"

The underground train began to move - the familiar howling Whoooooo with an underlying clanking like a mad symphony, seeming to come alive. She has a theory about the tubes. The trains move like live things all across London - parallel, adjacent, criss-crossing - worms in the belly of London. As the train rushes through the tunnels, the life force of the thousands of people on the train get sucked out by osmosis, left behind as microscopic auric debris underneath the udders of the city. That's why one feels extremely tired and drained after a journey on the train and spiritually low people jump off the tracks- their souls drawn by the life forces of the underground.

21 Immortals

Read a very entertaining Malaysian detective fiction by writer Rozlan Mohd Noor, an ex-mata called the '21 Immortals: Inspector Mislan and The Yee Sang Murders".

Good or not? Yes (if 'good' is by Malaysian standards) - it surpasses expectations. I liked the local setting and the characters are rather convincing. Inspector Mislan is a Malay inspector in the Malaysian Police force - a single parent, working in a corrupt force, internal power-mongering, Chinese mafia tai-kors in Petaling Street...sounds like Malaysia to me.

I'd read it for the characters though and not the plot - a little like Gerak Khas meets CSI in English. I wouldn't put it on the table alongside Agatha Christie, Arthur Conan Doyle or G.K. Chesterton just yet. Nevertheless it's a good effort and deserves a read.

Malaysia Boleh!

Balik Kampung End of the Year (again)

This Christmas, am once again back home trying to adjust to the drastic weather change (biting frost and snow of highs of -1C to humid heat of highs of 31C) - seems like I've been away forever but it's only been 4 years and a bit. I've chosen again to come back at the end of the year because its easier to take leave over Christmas/New Year's and the other reason is for the cooler weather (since it rains almost every other day mid-monsoon).

Trusty ole parents picked me up from the airport in the trusty old Perodua. Mom prepares one of her specialties - Prawn Mee aka Hokkien Mee (Last year I think it was a noodle type dish in soup I think) Everything is the same; house has a little bit more junk and dust than last year. When asked my dad says 'Don't touch, that's my treasure'. Ha...

Next - getting in touch with friends (of which the circle is growing smaller and smaller as time away grows) for the usual annual gatherings. I wonder how life for the others potters on when you're not in the country. By then you've missed so much of it that you don't wonder anymore and wish them well in whatever they do. You gather as much gossip as you can about whos-doing-what-and-where to last you for another year.

Then there's the usual checklist of things to do e.g. cut hair, go to the dentist, shop-for-groceries, deliver stuff for people etc. All this done in Malaysian time too - which means you have to stay conscious throughout the day when you're wide awake at night. Today it's 1.54am and I just woke up to poke around my stuff which has gathered a few layers of dust and write this blog since I'm in such a nostalgic mood.

So the year 2010 was quite eventful for me - new job in a new airport, another pay rise, found a special other, did a lot of running ( 2 half marathons, 3 10k's), played a lot of frisbee - all in good time. It's a blessing to be able to say 'Hey it's the end of the year - where did the time go?' Well fortunately for most of us, we have the luxury of this time to ponder on what we've done for the past 12 months and what we'd like to do for the next. (Imagine being terminally ill/or at the end of your lifetime and not being able to see through the end of the annum...never being sure if you've had achieved what you've wanted in the past 12 months let alone the rest of your short life time in this world)

What's important on these sojourns I realise is that Malaysia is still a home to come home to - with my family, friends, the food, the weather. (so I think seeing the uncles in the selipar and shorts, the makcik in the tudung, the lush green trees on the horizon, the endless tolls on the highways) And that you're still the same person that never left - just a little bit older and a little bit wiser.

So here's wishing all my friends and family a Merry Christmas everybody and a Happy New Year!

I'll Be Home For Christmas - Kristin Chenoweth

I'll be home for Christmas,
you can plan on me...

Kristin Chenoweth - I'll Be Home For Christmas (Official Music Video). Watch more top selected videos about: Kristin Chenoweth

It's almost the end of the year...

...and it's freezing. Really felt the cold this morning whilst walking to work as temperatures dropped almost overnight. The the autumnal chill has gone, never to return and there's a mean cold bite to the air now.

... and I can't believe we're at the tail end of the annum - where did the year go? It seemed only yesterday that I came to Heathrow airport. I was still in Gatwick earlier this year (as Rita reminded me - bumped into her on the train). I worked with Rita and a small team of 6 in Gatwick who were just lovely - very easy to work with and the times were very flexible. I remember it was a crazy winter where snow fell and stopped London literally and we cracked jokes about AT's ability to drive through snow. I turned back twice due to the snowfall as there weren't any trains. Can't believe this was in January.

...and I've started lighting candles in my room - feelings of deja vu; a reminder of winter in Stockholm in a freezing student dorm where I endeavoured to burn candles to ward off the cold. Ok so it wasn't a very great idea in terms of HSE. Somehow feel comforted by the little fairy lights twinkling on my window sill. My room is freezing cold for some reason despite the fact that central heating is on full blast. This is the 3rd November I'll be spending in this flat at this end of the world. I have no qualms as OKR has been good to me so far.

... and I've got another round of pay increase this time of year. Which is a jolly unexpected surprise. I had one mid-year already and didn't foresee another one coming in a long time. One of the directors , KF, gave me a call but I wasn't at the phone. It was my first line manager, PR, who got me and told me the good news. It was great to speak to PR after a while. She was the line manager in my first project in T&T - sure do miss the good old days at the Shard with the dream team. Nevertheless working in the airport is also pretty interesting too with another view of Project Management. Told my current line manager, GP, that it's like going to a university everyday - every working day I have a morning mantra (aka Microsoft) 'Where do I want to go today (in the University of Heathrow)' He found it funny.

Dependence....

What is this feeling that you're missing someone and can't seem to do things unless it's been endorsed, enthused, encouraged. It used to be alright to do things without bearing on someone else's time and interest. Now every move that I make; calling up a friend, making appointments on the weekend, planning a week of exercise, suddenly creates a tension of whether this would affect another individual. Although my schedule is pretty fixed due to my staid nature and love of planning, suddenly I may need to 'cut down on my social' activities- much to my astonishment - because I like planning in advance in order to avoid surprises and this should more or less counter and mitigate expectations....

Deepavali/Diwali, Bards and Birthdays

November month is upon us again. The weather fluctuates between the cold, wet and windy to the cold, crisp and clear. V says if the berries are hanging on the trees as they do now, it forebodes a bitter cold winter. We leave the omens aside for now.

Celebrated Deepavali with the gang this year at Thina's. We had murukku's, pappadams, manchurian, curried prawns,parattas, chickpeas, biriyani, Tapashya's curry, aubergine with woodfish, a fantastic frisbee cake and not traditionally mojitos (:P), pineapple tarts, peanut biscuits, sujee biscuits, oat and chocolate chip cookies and chocolate cake. All of us decked out too in kohl, sarees, kurta's,etc...there was even a kolam of Ghanesha with candles. I missed the fireworks:( It was lovely to be at yet another Deepavali celebration at home away from home.Thank you Thina and Tapashya for hosting - Kal, Sanjay, Biren, Aarthi, Shivan, Usha, Thinesh, Vini, Joey, Rina, Indran for the fun times.

As it's November month, am besieged again with birthdays.

Went away to Warwick for the weekend with the girls to celebrate dear old Quiza's birthday. Hadn't had a great start when I forgot to bring my itinerary and had to shuffle between Paddington and Marylebone, almost got thrown off before Didcot Parkway but luckily providence brought me an angel in the form of another girl who had a brochure and a fight with the conductor. Nevertheless arrived safe and sound, picked up by Vini and her trusty sat-nav Mable.

We had a lovely time the next day going around Stratford-Upon-Avon. Went to see Shakespeare's old house along the High-Streetand walked along the Avon river, drawing up the ghosts of our recent past as the girls chatted and laughed while we walked with Quiza's parents and trying our best to conjure the Stratford days of old looking at the 'colombage' style, crooked and quaint cottages in the architecture of-old. Later on we were joined by Priya and we went for a nice English pub dinner celebrating Quiza's birth with a pastel-blue cake tied with a white satin ribbon.

On Buying Clothes

Danny Wallace is hilarious - comes out on the weekly Shortlist as "Danny Wallace -is a man". His articles on life, being a MAN, random observations of a 35+ year old kid-man who's a husband, father, dude; never fails to make me laugh out loud on the tube (that's what I read every Tuesday morning). Here's a short blurb on 'Nappy Shopping'

Nappy Shopping by Danny Wallace
'I wish buying clothes for adults was as simple as it is for babies. All you have to know about a baby is their rough age. I wish I could click on a website and buy trousers 'suitable for 32-34 years', with a big pocket for mortgage statements and too many keys. Clothes for 50-52 year-olds would come witha lining made from that month's 'Which' magazine. And you could buy your nan something for 75-80 years, which was only half-knitted , so she could do the rest. Of course this assumes we are all the same size, but if we ignore this, my point is terrifically valid'

Several birthdays coming up - now how useful is THAT!

Royal Parks Half Marathon

As the runners huffed and puffed along the track, the autumn leaves fell slowly to the ground around us, like giant gold confetti tossed in celebration of life's achievements.
- A momentary picture of the Royal Parks Half in my mind -

Attitude

Once a while ago, I was a young graduate working in AIA Co. Ltd in Malaysia with the agency force. Part of the training 'programme' in the Agency Executive team which we underwent was to memorize this mantra by Charles Swindoll - word-for-word - I kid you not. Earning your keep as a sales person is one of the most unforgiving and toughest jobs; we relied on mind-set and behavioural training to survive the punishingly competitive environment. It seemed like a brainwashing dictatorial training exercise then. However I've never forgotten it and the mantra proved needful in times of difficulty. I thank my tough bosses in AIA for sharing and drilling this into us.


ATTITUDE
The longer I live, the more I realize the impact of attitude on life.

Attitude, to me, is more important than facts. It is more important than the past, than education, than money, than circumstances, than failures, than successes, than what other people think or say or do. It is more important than appearance, giftedness or skill. It will make or break a company... a church... a home.

The remarkable thing is we have a choice every day regarding the attitude we will embrace for that day. We cannot change our past... we cannot change the fact that people will act in a certain way. We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude... I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% how I react to it.

And so it is with you... we are in charge of our attitudes.

-Charles Swindoll

Gratitude for Serendipity

Serendipity:
"is a propensity for making fortunate discoveries while looking for something unrelated"
-Wikipedia.org


Yesterday a friend had his leaving-do - he was going home to Hong Kong for good and decided to have a small send-off dinner in a Thai restaurant north of London. In the midst of the meal, suddenly I felt a gratitude for serendipity that led me to meet this friend, the girlfriend who sits next to me and the wonderful games of ultimate frisbee we have every week.

If I hadn't known AC, who hadn't googled for visas, who hadn't contacted AY, who hadn't known S, who hadn't known N, who hadn't randomly knocked on a student's window, who hadn't organized frisbee, who hadn't asked to S play, who hadn't asked me to come for a game, who hadn't known T, I wouldn't have met all these wonderful people.

Life gives us hard knocks but don't forget to give thanks with a grateful heart in the good times.

Here I sit between my brother the mountain and my sister the sea. We three are one in loneliness, and the love that binds us together is deep and strong and strange
- Kahlil Gibran

Big Moon Mid-Autumn

Was walking home late tonight and the moon was so big and bright. It shone gloriously in a milky glow with a big star by its side in the dark blue-ish autumn sky.

Sense of deja vu of a big celestial shining sphere once seen on the dark forest edge in Sweden; was walking home too from Mariehem to Alidhem - it was dark and the little roads were lonely and sparse. Little kindergarten-looking houses with candlelight were very quiet in the night.

Another memory was the big moon nestled in the dark silver lined clouds , this time a much younger teenaged me outside the Fraser's Hill bungalow - listened a lot to 'A Whole New World' from Aladdin and felt like I was in suspended 'animation' with my whole life ahead of me.

The mysterious power of the moon - makes one strangely happy especially when you're admiring it quietly.

Happy Mooncake and Mid-Autumn Festival to everyone !


Favourite 'Moon' Songs
Debussy - Clair de lune
Beethoven - Moonlight Sonata
Johnny Mercer and Henry Mancini - Moon River
Rodgers and Hart - Blue Moon
Teresa Teng's "The Moon Represents My Heart"
King Harvest - Dancing in the Moonlight

"Stop All the Clocks" - W.H.Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

ps. After more than 17 years , I revisit Four Weddings and a Funeral - watching it in secondary school I'd never thought I'd be living it now.

The Day the Underground Stood Still

Tube-screamer:

The Tube Screamer is an overdrive pedal. The most popular use of a tube screamer is to push a tube amp to make it overdrive more. The pedal has a characteristic mid-boosted tone popular with blues players

Stepping out of the station, suddenly a melange of bodies met me standing in great crowds outside Paddington station; I wondered if an accident had happened but walking further on, realised these people were waiting for their buses. "What a waste of time," I thought. Meanwhile the rest were in movement, preferring not to wait out their time on the sidewalks for what's left of the remnants of the public transport of London, and instead took charge of the commutes in their own hands. They came out in cycles, walked, biked, ran - hence the multitude of people on the streets, in their smart business suits, brief-cases and white adidas trainers; and the sudden burst of cyclists out on the streets with their helmets, sporty riding gear and neon Hump rucksacks.

Where there was not a soul, dark and empty, the park silent with the deepening of the trees and bushes as twilight falls; now there was a merry atmosphere of movement, laughter and talk, as people moved along the greens, walking -almost ambling- to their destinations on their merry way. The autumn evening was cool and the skies were clear - this was a very different Hyde Park today as of yesterday.

What a difference London was without the Tubes running - suddenly the population on the streets exploded not akin to disturbing an ants nest and having the ants spill out of the cracks in millions. Most Londonites are indignant but I'm sure most were thankful for the chance to stop and smell the roses and walk in the sunshine instead of rushing off in the stale air of the underground. I knew I was.

Airport Homeless

Read an article recently in the Evening Standard:

"The Dispossessed: How this woman was saved from a life of sleeping rough with Heathrow’s homeless"

Which reminded me of an evening a few months ago when I did just that.I was working in Gatwick airport and had gone on a short trip to France and at the end of the trip arrived back to my 'work' destination. I'd arrived late and by the time I got out of the snaking midnight immigration queue, had already missed the last train. The funny thing was I didn't think of staying in a hotel (my student-save-money instinct kicked in) but decided to wait it out so that I could just get into the office in the morning. After all, it was only for 6 hours and I could go straight to work which was in the Longbridge House building in the North Terminal.

Gatwick was one of those airports which didn't shut down - no flights operated- but there were plenty of people waiting it out by sleeping. Some slept on the uncomfortable wooden benches, claiming the entire row like a settee....some curled along the walls, under escalators. The smarter ones went upstairs and slept on the Costa Coffee sofas. What I I had no idea was that some of them were genuine homeless people who'd found a 'safer' place to sleep than the streets.

It was the most uncomfortable night I've encountered - was upright most of the time (which was terribly bad for the back) and couldn't sleep which produced a buzzing lightheadedness compounding into a headache. My only consolation was that it would only last a few more hours. Passed the time checking mail on the internet terminal kiosk (which had a crappy screen) and looking for a better place to sit. By the time sunrise came at 4am, I had a genuine urge to flush my head in the toilet - the dazed, headachy feeling was that bad.My colleagues couldn't believe nor understand why I didn't want to check into the Yotel at least...Right now I don't understand it either.

After that one night in the airport, I have genuine sympathy for these people. I think I was meant to read this article and understand the overall terrible sufferings of being homeless. (which sleeping in the airport is only just a small part of it) If 6 hours was that bad, I couldn't imagine a few weeks, a few months of not being able to sleep in peace. I count my blessings for having a proper bed to lie in everyday.

Summer songs

For some reason this Swedish kinderlieder is playing in my head. It couldn've been triggered by the visit to IKEA with Jas last weekend in Huddersfield which brought back fond memories of life in Umea, or it could've been seeing the word 'Sommer' on Facebook. It was funny to see the Princess Tarts, Marzipan rolls and Swedish Meatballs sitting in the IKEA cafe display just like how Princess Tarts, Marzipan rolls and Swedish Meatballs would in Samhallsvetarhuset cafe, except this was a memory 30 months ago and a few thousand miles away.

My local 'mentor', Lorentz Edberg, gave me some music song sheets as I told him it would be nice to learn some Swedish songs. This was on the front page -which also happens to be the 'unofficial' closing song Swedish school children sing before the summer holidays.

I like the lyrics as it shows the happiness of summer through a child's eyes - sun, flowers, bees, birds, trees and freckles.

The child in the song wisely reminds us ; 'The summer is ours" - and so we should enjoy it.

Sommarsången

Och nu så vill jag sjunga
Att sommaren är skön
Och träden är så fina
Och marken är så grön
Och blommorna är vackra
Och höet luktar gott
Och solen är så solig
Och vattnet är så vått
Och lilla fågeln flyger
I boet ut och in.
Och därför vill jag sjunga
Att sommaren är min.

Och jag vill också sjunga
Att fjärilar är bra
Och alla söta myggor
Dom vill jag också ha
Och jag är brun om bena
Precis som det ska va
Och därför vill jag sjunga
Att bruna ben är bra

Och jag har nya fräknar
Och prickigt sommarskinn
Och därför vill jag sjunga
Att sommaren är min.

Summer Song

And now I want to sing

The summer is beautiful

And the trees are so fine

And the land is so green

And the flowers are beautiful

And hay smells good

And the sun is so sunny

And the water is so wet

And the little bird fly

In the nest and out.

And so I sing

The summer is mine.

And I also want to sing

The butterflies are good

And all the sweet mosquitoes

Dom, I would also have

And I'm brown on the bone

Just as it should huh

And so I sing

To brown the bones are good

And I have new freckles

And dots summer skin

And so I sing

The summer is mine.

Written by the ingenious Astrid Lindgren, creator of the beloved Pippi Longstocking.

Free Words for the Morning

He stands there calling 'Good morning' to everybody entering the station but most would ignore his greetings, the morning fixture at the door of the tube, with his cap and hi-viz jacket (neon yellow on Tuesdays and orange on Wednesdays). In the midst of all that rejection, I would be one of the few who would acknowledge him where most would walk past him without a glance and after a few mornings, he's come to recognise me.

Sure enough as I approach, the boy turns, sees me and smiles. I will be there at 7.15am like a sure-shot, Tuesday to Thursday, taking that newspaper off his hand like a peace-offering, my apology for the rudeness of the capital. He's my salvation for the dreary trek to work by tube and train, and little does he know, I look forward to seeing him and his newspaper and would actually be pretty disappointed if he didn't show up.

Each capital has a free publication of some sort but there's no doubt on the quality of London's free print which could equal if not better the paid-for publications. There's some pretty good material in them from health to beauty, sports, fitness, travel and business. The ones that I mostly pick up are the widely distributed Evening Standard, a weekly evening paper published by Daily Mail and General Trust recently made complimentary last year.


On Monday to Friday mornings there's the 'tabloidy' Metro published by Associated Newspapers Ltd. I'd pick this up only if I can't get anything else to read.

Limited area distribution financial newpaper 'City AM' (owned by CityAM Ltd) is published Monday to Fridays however I only get this if I go through London Bridge station in the morning.

On Tuesdays, Shortlist Media prints The Stylist, a female magazine targetted for women aged 20-40 and on Wednesdays, 'Shortlist' the men's equivalent. I look forward to the witty Danny Wallace's article which never fails to cracks me up.

On Thursdays, TalkSport(UTV Media) publishes the Sport magazine.
Since I've started travelling to work by train, I'd bring a book in my bag to ease the boredom otherwise it's hi-viz guy at the station to my rescue for my 15 minute reads.