I find myself wondering why my destiny appears to be wrapped up in being messed around by the railway system in this dear country of ours.
As I have, I hope, already estabished, I do love trains - but for me, they are so often a harsh mistress.
Take this current trip, for example. Please do. Apart from my time at my destination, which was incredible, the rail portion of it has been nought but hassle.
The first part was induced by me - a troubling thought, because it means that I may be being sucked into this vortex of locomotive unhappiness as a protagonist, and not just a victim.
I forgot my tickets when I left for the station. Doug kindly ran me back home for them, but by the time I arrived back at the hallowed halls of Durham station, my train had sailed.
Interestingly enough, even though I had purchased the tickets online, they were unable to re-issue them in this kind of emergency. This was a shame, although I detected not one jot of remorse on the visage of the furnace-faced dragon who was occupying the seat at the customer services desk. I'd say her reaction was more akin to the kind of evil satisfaction she might more normally gain from breathing fire and damnation onto a village of innocent Hobbits, or something.
Thirty pounds later I was sitting on a nice direct train to Huddersfield. The journey was smooth, my stupidness money was paid. I was met at Huddersfield station by a tall female girl in her early twenties.
All was well.
(Please see the subsequent blog entry for engaging details of my time in Huddersfield)
Today is my journey back. I cleverly took a bus to the station. Nothing to go wrong there...
Have you been on a bus recently? Cars have been getting smoother and more pleasant to travel in as the years tick by - I can only assume that it's at the expense of the busses. Even staying on my chosen seat was something of challenge. I noticed one lady defiantly trying to read her complimentary copy of the 'Metro' newspaper.
Her head went right through it on two occasions, leaving her reading matter in shreds. If that bus ride had been offered at Alton Towers, we would all have been nicely strapped in and paid a fiver, so for a quid and a half I suppose I should be grateful.
After a brief jog from bus stop to station, I bought my ticket to Leeds, walked under the tracks and emerged onto the platform. The sun was out, and I dared to hope for a nice easy journey.
There was a little time before my train, so I popped into the quaint little station buffet for a bacon buttie. Buffet was an appropriate name as well, because all the seating was tiny bar stools. I finished the sandwich and glanced at my watch. It was 28 minutes past. My train was at 31 minutes past, so I gathered my things and set off on the 40 metre walk to the train.
As I reached the door of the buffet, they announced my train.
I saw my train.
I headed for my train.
My train pulled away.
I missed my train.
I checked my watch, it was 30 minutes past the hour, the station clock confirmed it.
Never mind, thought I, still plenty of time. I'll catch the next train to Leeds. This I did, but it was delayed and packed full of Leeds commuters. I beat a path to the foyer part of the carriage and prepared to stand for the journey to Leeds.
Reconciled to my fate, I stood there, trying to be up-beat. Shortly after this, a large Candian woman dressed in a red jumpsuit, and with a walking stick deliberately covered in totality with red glitter, bashed me on the leg with it and demanded that I get out of her way.
It's always touching when someone takes an interest in me, but sometimes the onset of sudden pain lessons my ability to properly demonstrate my gratitude. I looked a little more carefully and realised I was in front of the entrance to the toilet. By a series of grunts and gestures to my co-foyer occupants I managed to broker a combined movement pact, thus enabling our valued guest to excercise her micturial rights.
As it happened, her seat was next to mine, and I proceeded to hear her phone her Canadian chums and tell them how awful the trains were here - and how rude the other passengers were. If only she hadn't been half-right. I didn't want her to be right about anything in any way at all.
My arrival in Leeds was a welcome one. Firstly, I got to sit down on a nice, cool, wall. (don't get me started on those weird metal station chairs) Secondly, it transpired that my onwards train was departing from the same platform that I was on. Sweet. At last, some good news.
There was even a nice waiting room and coffee shop to enjoy. The coffee shop was called Pumpkin, which seemed strange, as they didn't use or sell any pumpkins at all. The logo was cool, though - so maybe they went to a design agency and just looked for a good logo. That said, I don't see the other, more well known, coffee shops selling either Stars, Bucks or, indeed, Neros - so maybe I should think more carefully before making silly comments.
I did notice that it was an older lady in sole charge of Pumpkin this morning. In my mind, this means that the coffee will not be that good. Why is that? I guess I want my comfort-coffee to be prepared by enthusiastic twenty-somethings with names like 'Boz', 'Lindy' or maybe 'Kristian'.
So, my expectation from this nametagless older lady was for poor coffee, made without much soul. As a side thought to that, if I had found out she was an Italian older lady, my expectation would have changed to optimism for the best cup of coffee in the world, ever. Weird.
In order to enable me not to have to deal with my expectations being either wrong or right, I decided not to have a coffee at all, and instead to drink the can of coke I stole from Liz's pantry*, much earlier.
Better.
Looking at the board showed me that the train I was due to catch was delayed by ten minutes. I noticed with wry cynicism that it was coming from Huddersfield - so if I had done my home work I could have caught it straight through. Still, never mind. Just as it was due, a large goods train came through the platform - and an announcement was made:
“Would passengers for the delayed 11.27 service to Newcastle please run like hell for some godforsaken platform right at the edge of the station, where their delayed service is waiting impatiently.** ”
I ran. I really ran, folks.
I am on the train right now.
I made it.
All is well.
* This is a place where some people choose to store kitchen food items not requiring refrigeration. This is not where Liz keeps her pants. Well, not usually.
** The words used here may not have been the actual words spoken.
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...and my very lovely Treo650
Andy you obviously need a PA.
Posted by: christine | October 10, 2005 at 11:17 PM