Public Transport journeys are always an adventure
My least favourite was over the Easter weekend in 1998 (which in itself should set alarm bells ringing for some of you).

Having recently moved down to Kent for a job, I'd decided that I'd go visit a friend of mine who lived in Wolverhampton. The journey to London was fine; I'd left work early to catch a train from near home, had my nice kind neighbour drive me to the train station so I was in plenty of time, and the journey in reasonably good weather to, and across London was nice and easy.

It wasn't until I arrived at Euston Station that things began to go hideously pear-shaped.

My train (leaving at 7.00pm) to Wolverhampton (with reserved seats) was cancelled with about 5 minutes to go. Consequently, the next one (half an hour later) had everyone who should have been on the train before cramming onto it as well as the people who should have been. The overcrowding reminded me of the scenes you see if trains in India. I'm sure if it was possible to cling to the outside of the train, people would have.

I found myself sitting in the footwell between two carriages with another 20 or so people, all of whom were a little pissed off that they didn't have anywhere more comfortable to sit, but at least the journey should only take a couple of hours. Which, of course, it didn't.

The further North the train went, the slower it got. The heavier the wind and rain outside got. Until, eventually the train ground to a complete halt south of Northampton. The tannoy announced that there was severe flooding in the area, and only a single line was open, which everything was trying to filter through.

And so, we sat there. And sat there.

The kindly staff had dished out all the food and drink they had on board, but there was no way enough to go round. I had a kilo bar of chocolate with me, which got shared by those in the footwell with me.

A form of camaradarie swept across our little arse-numbingly uncomfortable compartment. People started chatting about thingss they would normally not talk to strangers about. We converted the door window into a smoking area with little or no complaints. I shoved some music on through my laptop to try and make the time pass more quickly.

Eventually, we did get through the floods; they were almost up to the door level on the train.

I eventually got a seat once most people got off at Birmingham, so the last 20 or so minutes I did get a seat to try and regain some feeling in my bottom. I sat opposite a very-tired looking man, and his very overtired 5 year-old son who was at the stage where he just couldn't make up his mind whether he should be hyperactive, or sleep.

By this time, it was no longer raining or windy outsite. It was snowing instead.

The train trundled into Wolverhamton (where it was due to terminate) at about 3.45am. The remaining passengers trundled out to be greeted by a sight more reminiscent of deep winter rather than late Spring.

We were instructed to try and get into groups going the same direction and get taxis. Pretty hard when you're not actually sure WHICH direction you're supposed to be going.

I missed out on this due to helping a lady who was part of a group who could no longer get to North Wales to a hotel, after she'd fallen on the icy snow, and badly twisted her ankle.

I eventually found a taxi, and fortunately remembered how to get to my final destination. This was at 4.30am. At this point I sat outside the house, and smoked a cigarette, pondering whether I really had the heart to knock on the door to wake someone up to let me in. Then I thought "fuck that", and knocked.

So, a journey that should have taken a little under 3 hours got extended to a 10-hour oddessy.

Still, given the pictures I saw on the news about the motorways and flooding the following day kind of give me the impression I got off lightly.
(Glis, Sun 10 Sep 2006, 17:46, Reply)