From the
Rutland Times:
Well, I said I wouldn^t do it, and I did. I^ve been using the railway again - different company; much worse! This happened only because the NHS insists that I must be nearly blind before I can have my cataracts operated on: I would have had to drive home from Bath in the dark.
Instead, the journey involved three trains both ways. In hindsight, driving home in the dark would have been much, much better.
It started off fine - a friend drove me to Oakham; the train was on time, everything looked good ... until Birmingham. The train to Bristol was late. And more late. Then, some three minutes before it was due the arrival platform was changed to the other side of the tracks.
I hadn^t been through this abysmal place since 1954 so I had no idea where the lift was. The herd stampeded up some 20 steps, across and down the stairs just as the train rolled in with another horde trying to get off. Chaos ensued!
But that was nothing compared with the return trip.
The Bath-Bristol train was stationary outside Temple Meads for about five minutes: not a problem - it made the wait for the Birmingham train shorter. Not so. The Bristol-Birmingham was late by 16 or 18 minutes (the announcer didn^t seem sure) and continued in the same all the way to New Street.
My neighbour had a new-fangled phones giving railway information and was able to find where the next train to Glasgow would be, but not the Birmingham-Stansted one.
Timing had become critical, so I positioned myself by the door, luggage ready for the ^off^, my platform still unknown. Not surprising, really, as the train had left three minutes earlier!
My Brummie friend was there to help, and took me to ^Reception^ so I could get information and a claim form. Bless him, he and his wife took me up the escalator for a free coffee and then carried my suitcase back down.
Evidently, porters are a thing of the past, but not only that, so are waiting rooms and platform seats at New Street, so we stood in the cold for an hour.
The Oakham train, which only had to come from the depot, was held back by the York one which was (yes, you^ve guessed) late. The platform seemed almost as full after it left, but of course some of us should have been on the 18.22.
With exquisite evil intent, ^our^ driver stopped some 30 yards from where we stood, causing everyone to rush up to... the TWO coaches on offer.
My seat, 50A, was taken by a chap who said, quite reasonably, that it was valid for the earlier train and did not think I could fit on his lap given that there was a table in the way.
A young lass kindly gave me her seat, but there were many who had to stand for nearly an hour, to Leicester.
My booked taxi driver wasn^t in Oakham - he had to go to Peterborough. For once I was pleased I had a mobile phone: thank you, Dean, for getting me home via your mate after a six-hour journey instead of what should have been under four.
I gather that Swiss and German trains always run on time: maybe they could come and run ours. Bath was jumping. The sun shone, the Christmas market booming, the cathedral full of light, and there was a rugby match on. I went to a Shoppers^ Carol Service, where the young vicar told a Christmas cracker joke: How does Joseph like his pizza? Deep-pan, crisp and even! (Groan).
Have a happy New Year!
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