Lifted from elsewhere
A few weeks ago we held the office table football championship. A keenly fought and widely attended competition.

Honour was upheld and a creditable quarter final exit seemed good enough for me. I stayed to watch the final and headed for Euston. On arrival, the 21.05 Virgin train was delayed slightly so I ran and caught it by the skin of my teeth. Only sometime after the train started moving did it occur to me that I hadn't actually checked the stops for it. We pulled into Watford Junction and only then did the LED board's show up the next destination.

Stoke on Trent.

If you were in the buffet car at about 9.25 on the Manchester train and were treated to the sight of a porky bloke charging through, leaking personal possessions and loudly yelling "cock", I apologise. Alas I was too late and I was off to Stoke on Trent. There was no prospect of a return that evening so I was up for the night. My fellow passengers were sympathetic (if amused) and the train manager did not charge me for my extra hour on board. It must be said that it is pretty dispiriting racing through your normal station and within 3 miles of your house before heading further north- 108 miles further north in fact.

I arrived at Stoke at 11.00pm and I'm thrilled to say that my cab driver found me a hotel with a room. It must be said that for £42, my room was actually really rather good. I've paid much more for much less.

I arrived back at the station the following morning and paid a princely £39.60 to get home again.

So in total, an evening that was supposed to be a cheap night out came in at about £100 all in, took 15 hours longer than anticipated and involved an extra 220 miles of travelling. I'm a shoe in for twat of the month award as well.

There are some odd silver linings to this. I have to say that all the Virgin staff were brilliant- helpful, sympathetic and friendly. I was allowed to get some work done in the first class lounge whilst I waited for my train. The duty hotel bloke was a star as well (The Plough motel in Stoke was the name of the place for the record).

Do I feel like a bellend though? You bet I do.
(Leonard Hatred briefly did some work on, Fri 30 May 2008, 10:47, Reply)