So, no images of gore (unless you have an imagination). Let’s get on with talking about escalators and how dangerous they are to little feet shall we? First instance when I was a kid: A woman’s dog got caught at the top of one in the London underground wooden escalators. The dog wasn’t quick enough getting off and maybe the owner was distracted. I for one hate the underground, hate escalators and probably need to take the stairs in any case.
Another later instance: My child also came dreadfully close to being injured at the bottom of one (the whole place where it was is now demolished). Thankfully though, his wellies on the day saved him. He was standing far too close to the edge line and the wellies got caught under the brushes. It doesn’t bare thinking about if he had been wearing sandals. Maybe it could be wise to install sensors on top and bottom of escalators? As kids be kids, dogs be dogs and those who love them being only human. After all, attempting to keep an eye on kids, dogs and ourselves when distracted (mobile phones these days) is where most accidents happen.
Lifts though, well they seem safe enough, right? I mean, I’d hate to get stuck in one [touch wood] and as yet it has only happened for a very short while once. Still, they’ve given me a few heebie-jeebies moments I can tell you. There was this really wide wooden lift in a factory I visited a few times as a kid. it was in an old factory, where they were making a model of the Titanic to scale. Man alive did that lift frighten me as the wood creaked as it wobbled, screeched as it lurched and always seem want to stop an inch or five lower or higher than the floor! Oh and the doors made of zigzag metal on being pulled open, could do with an oil, for they had a whole weird and loud conversation all to themselves! One model maker cooked his toast on the burners and filled the air with burnt bread. Back then and there was a whole different oldie worldy vibe. You might imagine kids being caught in the machinery and a fire ripping through the joint! The best light streamed at best through the windows onto the model pieces. Any of the sunshine faded fast the further in you stepped. Everywhere so grubby, all brown and unlit with a horrible smell of industrial gloom. One of the workers had no sense of smell or taste, having been too close when a bomb went off apparently. I really felt for the bloke when he explained that he could never eat porridge, as the texture reminded him of sick. How horrible to work in such a dismal place, so void to the senses and yet be able to make such exceptionally detailed craftwork. Maybe one day with mixed emotions being a sensitive soul, I’ll visit the Titanic exhibition Belfast. I’ll see how well my senses act, having all these memories of this and that, with a hope my vivid imagination doesn’t escalate.