TYRE SHOPS IN ESSEX : TYRE SHOPS
Tyre shops in essex : Alton mobile tyres.
Tyre Shops In Essex
- A place where things are manufactured or repaired; a workshop
- (shop) do one's shopping; "She goes shopping every Friday"
- (shop) a mercantile establishment for the retail sale of goods or services; "he bought it at a shop on Cape Cod"
- (shop) patronize: do one's shopping at; do business with; be a customer or client of
- Essex is a ceremonial and non-metropolitan county in the East of England region of the United Kingdom, and one of the home counties. It is located to the northeast of Greater London and is one of the most populous counties in England.
- A county in eastern England; county town, Chelmsford
- A town in northwestern Vermont that includes the village of Essex Junction; pop. 18,626
- a county in southeastern England on the North Sea and the Thames estuary
- Essex is the title of the fourth studio album of singer/songwriter Alison Moyet. The album (although recorded in Liverpool) is named after the artist's native Essex, England and includes the singles "Falling" (1993), "Whispering Your Name", "Getting Into Something" and "Ode to Boy II".
- A port on the Mediterranean Sea in southern Lebanon; pop. 14,000. Founded in the 2nd millennium bc as a colony of Sidon, it was for centuries a Phoenician port and trading center
- Sur: a port in southern Lebanon on the Mediterranean Sea; formerly a major Phoenician seaport famous for silks
- tire: hoop that covers a wheel; "automobile tires are usually made of rubber and filled with compressed air"
- Tyre (Arabic: , '; Phoenician: , , '; ????, Tzor; Tiberian Hebrew , '; Akkadian: ???? ; Greek: ', Tyros; Sur; Tyrus) is a city in the South Governorate of Lebanon.
'Little Park Gardens, 2004', or 'A bus', or 'Stuff I Wouldn't Talk About At Parties*'
Version a: A Hertfordshire bus, to be exact, previously in red and doing the bidding of Arriva London south of the river until TfL dictated that the bus operating companies had to replace their step-entrance fleet with new easy access vehicles. This left operators with a load of redundant buses that they could palm off to their sister divisions outside of the capital where, without generous London subsidies, keeping routes profitable would often mean using secondhand castoffs from elsewhere until their wheels fell off. Arriva were particularly keen on cascading buses like this, and some ex-London examples, approaching 30 years old, still wheeze on in some distant corners of the UK. Clinging onto the edge of town on the 310 from Ware with Arriva East Herts & Essex, this one didn't stray so far.
The 310 and it's offshoots were a busy network of 'country' - i.e. non-TfL routes weaving in and out of one another from Enfield to Hertford along the Hertford Road (310A/310B) or the A10 (310/311) to the London/Herts boundary at Waltham Cross, then through Cheshunt, Broxbourne, Hoddesdon, Ware Road (310) or the Hundred Acre estate (310A/B/311) and Ware, with the 310B going on to Harlow. The majority of journeys were operated commercially outside of London, with some TfL subsidy in place for the runs south to Enfield in return for them accepting travelcards and charging standard London fares. This arrangement lasted well for years, but TfL's increasing reluctance to grant support to routes not under it's direct control, along with the increasing difficulty in making any money out of running buses on a commercial basis inside London, meant that by the time of this photo in 2004 the network was being cut back with the joint operation of the 310A between Arriva and Metroline being left to the latter company alone. By 2006, with Metroline having withdrawn the 310A and 310B, a skeleton rush hour service on the 310 was all that was left within London, and that too was withdrawn in October of that year. I don't suppose many people travel either side of Waltham Cross, though, and those that do can change there where the 310 service still runs.
Where 15 years ago a few dozen commercial 'country' routes wandered into London and played 'London Bus' inside the boundary in the manner of the 310, only a handful now remain - the 84 to St. Albans, the 614 to Hatfield and the 402 to Tunbridge Wells. Most cross-boundary routes are now run at a substantial loss by TfL from inside London as a sort of social service, where they consider there to be a benefit to Londoners in doing so - be that in the form of providing a local service to outlying areas just inside the London border, or the economic benefits to London's suburban town centres of drawing people in from outside for work, play, shopping and learning. Whether the old arrangement or the new one is better is a whole other debate.
Version b: O HAI ENFIELD PPLZ, DO YOU REMEMBER THOSE FUNNY BUSES THAT WEREN'T RED? No, it's ok, I tire of hearing myself think sometimes. It's a useful sort of self-regulation.
* well, unless you ask.
In Livingstone's footsteps
This is almost certainly the path taken by David Livingstone in 1838 when he walked from Ongar to Stanford Rivers to deliver the evening service at the United Reform Chapel in Stanford Rivers when the minister was sick (the church is now demolished, the ‘proper’ church can be seen in the distance at the top right of the photo). Livingstone made the proverbial pig’s ear out of his sermon. In front of a full house he mounted the podium and began conventionally enough with “Good evening friends….” He then fell into a prolonged silence during which he fiddled nervously with his papers and refused to meet the eyes of the congregation before suddenly blurting out "Friends, I have forgotten all I had to say," and rushing from the church and back to Ongar. It was a sign of things to come, he was never a great public speaker and his unconvincing manner failed to make many converts during a lifetime of missionary work in Africa. In fact as a missionary he is generally judged a failure.
Whilst at Ongar he began to demonstrate a crucial aptitude for a life of tramping around Africa on foot – the ability to walk. A colleague from Ongar, William Garden Blaikie, later wrote a book ‘The Personal Life of David Livingstone’ which includes the following story:
"One foggy November morning, at three o'clock, he set out from Ongar to walk to London to transact some business for his eldest brother, who had begun to deal in lace. In the darkness of the morning Livingstone fell into a ditch, smearing his clothes, and not improving his appearance for smart business purposes. The day was spent in going about in London from shop to shop. It was about twenty-seven miles to the house he sought. After spending a few hours [in London] he set out to return on foot to Ongar. Weary and footsore, when he reached Stanford Rivers he missed his way, and finding after some time that he was wrong, he felt so dead-beat that he was inclined to lie down and sleep; but finding a directing-post he climbed it, and by the light of the stars deciphered enough to know his whereabouts. About twelve that Saturday night he reached Ongar, white as a sheet, and so tired he could hardly utter a word. I gave him a basin of bread and milk, and I am not exaggerating when I say I put him to bed. He fell at once asleep, and did not awake till noonday had passed on Sunday.”
A fifty mile trek in one day is very impressive even if the old lazy bones had to have a lie in the next morning until midday.
I really like this photo, even though I took it. I followed the horses out of Ongar and as I stumped along after them it suddenly occurred to me that I might get a decent shot as they cleared the brow of the hill which leads down into Stanford Rivers. The only problem was that even though they were moving at a stately amble (for a horse) they were still considerably faster than I was (“four legs good, two legs bad,”) and I ended up having to run after them before they got too far away.
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