Just got back to Frome from Southampton visiting a pal who has just opened a cafe Behind The Walls. I was on a promise of a complementary cream tea - Cornish clotted cream, the works - so I could hardly resist the invitation.
Instead of driving I thought I'd let the train take the strain so at 5pm, after a highly satisfactory sojourn, I presented myself at the ticket kiosk at Southamptom Central to procure my travel documents. First class, I might add.
All so far so good, I thought. Even the price didn't require open heart surgery on my wallet so I had a spring in my step as I left the Wild Bean Cafe on platform 3 with a vente latte in hand and boarded the 5:20 to Cardiff Central.
The first inkling I had that my passage wasn't to be an easy one came with the realisation that our train was a 3 car cattle truck type affair with just one carriage allotted for first class. Nonetheless, undaunted I boarded the train and made my was into the first class accommodation.
Now, the train had originated in Portsmouth so there were a few people already aboard - mainly congregated towards the centre of the carriage. So I made my way to the far end of the carriage where there were some empty seats and made myself comfortable.
As soon as the train departed, the assault on the senses started. There was a strange mid eastern looking chap in the inter carriage area who started singing some kind of religious incantation at the top of his voice after which he repeatedly prostrated himself on the floor. Each time he did this, he triggered the automatic door and it really started to get my goat so I moved to the other end of the carriage. No sooner had I sat down than a group of rather uncouth looking youths entered the carriage and positioned themselves on the luggage racks, whooping and yelping and just generally being disruptive. That prompted me to move to the only free double seat in the centre of the carriage where I remained undisturbed until we reached Romsey. At this point I acquired a new neighbour who, let us say, was patently obviously not a first class customer. Indeed, when the ticket inspector came round he failed to produce a valid first class ticket. And you know what? The guard just let him off
what is it with people these days?
The next instalment came when we reached Salisbury where I had to change trains. Train cancelled, next one due in 1 hour. Great. No buffet on platform and when the train arrives there is no first class So there I am with the hoi polloi. To be fair, it wasn't that crowded but, as we were waiting to pull out of Warminster and the "doors closing" beeps were in full swing, some complete drunken slob clutching a plastic container of rough cider launches himself through the now closing doors and only prevents himself from smashing out the other side of the train by grabbing hold of the upright handrail around which he performs an impromptu drunken pirouette and launches a tirade of drunken abuse at yours truly who is sat right in front of him.
I had to endure 20 minutes of that until, at last, I got to Frome and was able to alight. Think my woes are over? Think again - just the small matter of a bus journey back to Buggeridge Towers.
The inevitable 30 minute wait for a once every 10 minutes service ensued before I climbed on board the number 35 and parked my weary backside on the last available seat amid a chorus of drunken pleas from the back of the vehicle for the driver to let one of this rabble off to take a leak. The pleas fell on deaf ears and off we went. Big mistake. This bus was one of those single decker affairs with a kind of stepped up area at the back where all the drunks were sat. We went all the way up Bath Hill, along a bit of a flat and then when we started going down Dead Womans Bottom, the wave of urine that cascaded down this step and sloshed down through the centre of the bus.... .... well, this chap had certainly been holding on for a long time - and pandemonium erupted among my fellow passengers before the driver declared that he was turning round and going ALL THE WAY BACK TO TROWBRIDGE where the police would be waiting and we would be debussed
I couldn't take anymore so,on getting to Trowbridge, I went to the hole in the wall, withdrew a load of cash and paid through the nose for a cab to take me the 12 miles back home.
I will never, except perhaps under the most extreme circumstances, use public transport in this country again. Pondlife is the epithet that springs to mind, and there appears to be pondlife EVERYWHERE on our transport network. Rant Over
Instead of driving I thought I'd let the train take the strain so at 5pm, after a highly satisfactory sojourn, I presented myself at the ticket kiosk at Southamptom Central to procure my travel documents. First class, I might add.
All so far so good, I thought. Even the price didn't require open heart surgery on my wallet so I had a spring in my step as I left the Wild Bean Cafe on platform 3 with a vente latte in hand and boarded the 5:20 to Cardiff Central.
The first inkling I had that my passage wasn't to be an easy one came with the realisation that our train was a 3 car cattle truck type affair with just one carriage allotted for first class. Nonetheless, undaunted I boarded the train and made my was into the first class accommodation.
Now, the train had originated in Portsmouth so there were a few people already aboard - mainly congregated towards the centre of the carriage. So I made my way to the far end of the carriage where there were some empty seats and made myself comfortable.
As soon as the train departed, the assault on the senses started. There was a strange mid eastern looking chap in the inter carriage area who started singing some kind of religious incantation at the top of his voice after which he repeatedly prostrated himself on the floor. Each time he did this, he triggered the automatic door and it really started to get my goat so I moved to the other end of the carriage. No sooner had I sat down than a group of rather uncouth looking youths entered the carriage and positioned themselves on the luggage racks, whooping and yelping and just generally being disruptive. That prompted me to move to the only free double seat in the centre of the carriage where I remained undisturbed until we reached Romsey. At this point I acquired a new neighbour who, let us say, was patently obviously not a first class customer. Indeed, when the ticket inspector came round he failed to produce a valid first class ticket. And you know what? The guard just let him off
what is it with people these days?The next instalment came when we reached Salisbury where I had to change trains. Train cancelled, next one due in 1 hour. Great. No buffet on platform and when the train arrives there is no first class
So there I am with the hoi polloi. To be fair, it wasn't that crowded but, as we were waiting to pull out of Warminster and the "doors closing" beeps were in full swing, some complete drunken slob clutching a plastic container of rough cider launches himself through the now closing doors and only prevents himself from smashing out the other side of the train by grabbing hold of the upright handrail around which he performs an impromptu drunken pirouette and launches a tirade of drunken abuse at yours truly who is sat right in front of him.I had to endure 20 minutes of that until, at last, I got to Frome and was able to alight. Think my woes are over? Think again - just the small matter of a bus journey back to Buggeridge Towers.
The inevitable 30 minute wait for a once every 10 minutes service ensued before I climbed on board the number 35 and parked my weary backside on the last available seat amid a chorus of drunken pleas from the back of the vehicle for the driver to let one of this rabble off to take a leak. The pleas fell on deaf ears and off we went. Big mistake. This bus was one of those single decker affairs with a kind of stepped up area at the back where all the drunks were sat. We went all the way up Bath Hill, along a bit of a flat and then when we started going down Dead Womans Bottom, the wave of urine that cascaded down this step and sloshed down through the centre of the bus.... .... well, this chap had certainly been holding on for a long time - and pandemonium erupted among my fellow passengers before the driver declared that he was turning round and going ALL THE WAY BACK TO TROWBRIDGE where the police would be waiting and we would be debussed
I couldn't take anymore so,on getting to Trowbridge, I went to the hole in the wall, withdrew a load of cash and paid through the nose for a cab to take me the 12 miles back home.
I will never, except perhaps under the most extreme circumstances, use public transport in this country again. Pondlife is the epithet that springs to mind, and there appears to be pondlife EVERYWHERE on our transport network
. Rant Over
Comment