Why I hate Virgin Rail even more. And Scot Rail. But not chocolate

 CHRISTMAS

December 22^nd  11.30

Usual scrum at Euston as platform is announced at 11.10. That's early.  Of course, with the train oversubscribed and everything in spasm because of flights, motorways and East coast trains, they mount a three man ticket check. Of course. At least it halts the stampede somewhat. I take great pleasure in getting one of them to hold my tea as I fish for my ticket. A young girl ahead of me tows a case the size of steamer cabin trunk. Her first time on a Pendolino or merely in denial?  People still reasonably good humoured as, remarkably, they have been in London over last few days, though  a hard faced blonde cuts across my feet  with her trolley case as she pushes in. She knows but stares straight ahead. Tomorrow I shall be sober but she will have to be like that for the rest of her life. 

 Coach A is like a tomato house. We run greater risk of deydration and heat exhaustion than frostbite.

I have no idea whether we set off on time. The carriage is packed. Lots of people without reservations. Strangely the seat beside me remains empty till after we leave when a young woman, reasonably elegant sits down reeking of rolly tobacco smoke. The train pulls out of  station then stops. A bad omen? Nah, only joking and we get under way

12.08 Just through the Chilterns we slow and then a halt and my heart sinks, but again it is momentary. Fear the worst today, though. Guard comes on to make an  announcement but the tannoy cuts out every two seconds. We still manage to glean that 1^st Class is de-classified and journey time will be slightly longer because emergency speed restrictions will operate till Crewe. That was not on the website at 10.00 this morning. And it was going so well....

13.20 We draw to a halt in the middle of nowhere....

 We’ve just passed Crewe and  the speed restrictions have been lifted...

 We’re now running 20 minutes late.  Due in Carlisle 15.00. Should just make the DMF connection...

The TM comes to relay his fractured message. I ask to have heat turned down. “When I get back to my office”

After half an hour, there’s no improvement. I find TM at Shop cadging a tea. He says he couldn’t do anything because his computer screen’s ‘frozen.’ I tell him it’s uncomfortably hot.

“I know but there’s nothing I can do about it...”

To The Shop:

What have you got?... Everything working?

Yes! - well, what are you after?

Coffee

Oh, yes, we can do that.

I’ll have a latte, please

Ah- no. We can’t do lattes... Can we? No.  Well, we could but it would come out just like water.

That’s why I asked you see?

We can make’em but, you know, they’d just come out like water and you’d only bring it back.

Right. So that’s a ‘no’ then really.

We can make you a coffee and add hot milk if you like.

Let’s do that.

It’s with the snow and everything. There’s people from the East Coast who shouldn’t even be on this train!

A man comes up to the counter:

 “Have you got anything to eat?’

 There’s a tub of chicken pate, if you want....

“We are now coming into Preston, just over 20 minutes late...”

Preston 14.17.  Still standing at platform after about 10 minutes

Dep. Preston  14.18 “Aproximately 39 minutes behind schedule.” Now due in at  Dumfries 15.25

I ask the new TM how we lost 20 minutes at Preston:

Well, you were ten minutes early.

(What?) But the guard said we were twenty minutes behind. How could we be...?

Well, the screen at the station had you down as twenty minutes late but you were actually running half an hour late. Then as things went on, you lost ten minutes, you know.....

As things went on?

 

NO, I DON’T FUCKING KNOW- THAT’S WHY I AM ASKING
A silent Munch scream forms in my lizard brain... but I am pleasant...

Anyway. My connection at 15.12 is out of the question, now. The next train out to DMF is at 16.17, arriving at 16.54. I call the cab  and he can still meet me so at least that will not be a problem....

“The delayed 14.08” is running 46 minutes behind time leaving Oxenholm.  As things have gone on...

We arrive in Carlisle at 15.30, 43 minutes behind. Everything seems delayed coming north or south. After a cup of tea and some lunch, at about 1600 I go to get on the DMF train which is at the platform. At 1610 or so, the TM comes down the carriage  to announce the train has been cancelled... As it’s a shuttle, this means the next train will be cancelled as well- although that would have been the 19.30 or so, a mere three  hours. The electrics have failed entirely   She doesn’t know what is going to happen  but she reccommends  if she were us she would  try to get a bus.... Everyone mills about too stunned to be angry. I say was this a maintenance issue?  She shrugs and says "It's just the cold weather."

Bullshit. It's not even cold at the minute, though it soon will be. This is just an old, clapped out train, like the one I rode to Glasgow last week. It might even be that same old rattle trap. In fact, of course it is!

A Virgin staffer emerges from the shadows. He looks like he has been in the bar most of the day. I ask who we go to. he says there is no-one. There is no Scotrail representative at Carlisle. Just the train crew. Everyone just gives up and files out to the forecourt and up to Botchergate. Great spirit of co-operation and humour from this trainful of exile Scots. Fortunately there is a bus to DMF within a quarter of an hour or so. The temperature is plunging. The bus is a little late but it is almost empty. Slowly all the waifs and strays file on board and eventuallywith my bus onward  to CD becoming less and likely, ( I have cancelled my cab) we head out through Carlisle's rush-hour, invisible  because of condensation-misted windows. Two hours later- and 2 hrs 40 minutes later than planned, after the longest conversation about chocolate I ever expect to have, I arrive in DMF. I can't feel my legs and I can't stop thinking about milk and chocolate digestive biscuits.

Why I hate Virgin Rail

November 14^th 2010

I should have read the warning signs more carefully. Vaguely wondered why there were only two services towards Glasgow on this day Sunday and why the first required my changing at Crewe. There was a direct train to Carlisle sometime after three in the afternoon but as that would have got me to Dumfries after eight and required a taxi from DMF I decided that a 15 minute wait at Crewe wasn’t too much of a trial and so book for the 9.45.

As I walk from the ticket hall having been told by a helpful Virgin staffer to head for Coach E for unreserved although there will be no problems “ On that one”, I wonder quite what he meant. At that moment the platform for the 9.45 to WBQ is announced and it continues, “Passengers wishing to continue their journey north should board a connecting coach service for their onward journey...”

Cunts. I’ve been outflanked again. There was nothing on the website about engineering or coaches.

No one is checking tickets at the barrer for “this service”. In fact a squad of red shirts is coming  up the ramp as I walk down. On the platform a guy in a wheel chair is talking to his mobility driver who is consulting a sheet that reads ‘WHAT IS HAPPENING TO DAY.” – Statement not question. The guy in the chair is learning that there is no train service to Barrow, his intended destination having changed at Lancaster for which he had arranged assistance. He is adamant that a coach from Warrington Bank Quay will be no use to him. He confirms that there was nothing on the website about engineering. I listen for a while, offering moral support and hoping for clarification, until I hear the amiable mobility guy say something about ‘tomorrow’ and I realise this is a complete cluster fuck.

Is there some significance to my being told to change at Crewe? We’ll have to see if the On-board Manager appears once he had has taken all the First Class upgrade payments. Meanwhile Isaac, our Onboard Customer Service Manager or whatevvuh  (Are there ‘Off Board Catering Managers’?) has announced that he will be unable to accept credit or debit card payments and owing to a technical difficulty ( not a ‘problem’) he will be unable to serve cappucino or lattes and asks us to accept his sincere apologies for any inconvenience caused. Sounds a nice lad.

Thick fog in the Chilterns. Now emerging into a mellow damp autumn day, crawling through the outskirts of  Bletchley as the manager approaches

He’s a friendly but weary bassethound of a man who advises those who have been instructed to change at Crewe to do as sugggested, presuming that for destinations north of Preston we will take a different route, by-passing the blocked line. We shall see.

Bletchley?

We are now stationary in a cutting. 10.25. 10.28. We have slid  off gain and, gathering speed, a recorded female voice announces very firmly that “We are now entering Milton Keynes” and advises us if we see “any  suspicious items or behaviour, to inform a member of staff or police”.

“On Armistice Day the Philharmonic will play

But the songs that they sing will  be sad

Shuffling brown tunes

Hanging around

No long-drawn, blown- out excuses were made

When I needed a friend she was there

Just like an easy chair

Armistice Day, Armistice Day

Ooh, I’m weary from waiting..”

The Northamptonshire countryside rolls by outside. It’s a beautiful  day. Silvery grey sheen on root crops  .

We pause at Rugby sometime before 11.00. At 10.59 the Guard invites everyone to observe the two-minute silence. Adding that we are scheduled to stay here until 11.08

Armistice Day, Armistice Day

11.20 Guard comes on the tannoy and announces he has been informed that now all customers travelling north of Preston should continue to WBQ and catch the bus because the connection we were due to catch at Crewe, going via Manchester is ‘very busy.’

“Hop on the bus, Gus. You don’t need to discuss much...”

I need to know how this will affect my connection at Carlisle so I go the Guard’s booth by the shop in Coach C but only Isaac is there. He tells me the Guard is at the rear of the train.  I don’t know how long it will be till we reach Crewe and options close so I hurry back dwon the train, being thrown repeatedly against the hard plastic wings on the seat backs with the swaying of the train. I’ll have a few bruises tonight. Why hasn’t the man bloody well come down to see if we have questions ?

Finally at the end of Coach G in First Class, virtually empty,  I reach a dead end where a catering girl is serving drinks from a trolley but there is no sign of our ‘Manager’. She kindly goes to look in the galley beyond and there is our robustly built guard wiping crumbs from his mouth. He bustles out and very assiduously checks the timetables for me.  It turns out the connection at Crewe taking people northwards  is only a Voyager with just four carriages. For fuck’s sake! What kind of planning is that?  Anyway he advises me that if I take the bus connection to Preston I should get in to Carlisle at ten to three or so, with more time to spare than if I were to go via Crewe as planned which allows only twelve minutes margin to catch the DMF train. 

Well, that should be all right, then. Just the chaos at WBQ to look forward to now. How long on the bus to  Preston?

FUCK FUCK FUCK. I HATE THIS! MAY THEY DIE SCREAMING AND BURN IN ETERNAL DARKNESS.

11.56 Crewe. A lot of people are getting off anyway. H’mm.

At WBQ, the train proves to be quite empty and a small, stalwart band of customers board the bus from Preston when it appears. It smells damp and musty as if it’s been in a garage unused for a while. Bonnie mother and cute daughter opposite me in train sit behind me. Lassie proceeds excitedly to poke me with her feet unaware that she is prodding my arse. Her mother remonstrates and I say, I hope she’s going to continue to sing help us pass the time. A few chorusses of “The wheels on the bus go round, round, round..” go round, round round. Then she starts prodding me again till I reach behind and grab her toes. She blushes pink and turns to texting. It turns out it will take not twenty five minutes to get to Preston but  an  hour and twenty five minutes, calling via Wigan. I resin myself to this and think no  more till a lifetime later as we crawl through the northern- western?- suburbs of  Wigan, I recognise where we tried ot have breakfast with L and L  last year and that it is a year to the day since the via dolorosa from Bolton to Wigan and the train fuck up THAT day. AND I have a hangover again. Departing Warrington we drove between two banks of dark pregnant cloud, battleship grey on the west, slate blue on the east. As we hit countryside there’s a wheezing squeak of arthritic windscreen wipers as rains spatters the picture windscreen.

The sun is shining again at Preston as we arrive on schedule. 14.10. There I find the next train for Carlisle is 14.42 which will get me in almost exactly at the time I should have been arriving in Dumfries. This will leave me waiting for the next train to Dumfries until 19.10- arriving at 19.50. So I may as well have caught the afternoon train after all- even though the website was probably wrong about that... What was that about “trying to get  the Glasgow train to wait a few minutes” I heard as we pulled out of WBQ?

CUNTS

The train is virtually empty so I get a table seat an’ all with  no problem. The  Scots ‘manageress’ gives me a wry look when when I explain my problem. She confirms that I will have a wait at Carlisle and with a level gaze says "You’ll have to take that up with them at Carlisle." We arrive on time about 16.50. I go to the Customer Service office where I am told I’ll have to take it up with the Team Leader who, I am not surprised to learn, will be behind that little blue door ducked away on Platform 4. “Just tell him what you’ve told me,” she says.

I do just that. He says that he can’t do anything because he hasn’t received any information about crowded trains from higher up so he has not authority to provide taxis, for instance. Interestingly I haven’t mentioned taxis. I ask why he doesn’t phone to se if there is an update. He says there is not point  because they would have let him  know.” “What if they didn’t?”  “That wouldn’t happen.” “That’s assuming the company works efficiently, which evidently it does not. So why not satisfy my curiosity.” There’s no point. They will just ask what I’m going on about.” This conversation goes around the houses several times. At one point he says “The best I can do is-‘ and he reaches a for a Customer Comment (Don’t you just love it. Not “Complaint” because that assumes the Comment would be negative.”) Form. I say I already have a bagful with me from previous trips. Eventually as the red mist starts to descend I have to leave before I become irate. I will stick at irritated for the time being while contemplating a three hour wait at Carlisle on a Sunday afternoon in November.

CUNTS

 RETURN 

Saturday 20^th November

When I check the website on Friday evening, my heart sinks to see ‘3 changes’ on the schedule. With deadening predictability we have to change at Preston and Crewe. Only after searching around for some time do I find a reference to engineering between WBQ and Wigan NE.  No ref to coaches however. Simply ‘alteration to service’ or some such like.

Today as I emerge from café on DMF station with my tea I look up to see the information board registering 1'3.54 to Newcastle’ change from ‘On Time’ to ‘Exp 13.56’. It’s still registering ‘Exp 13.56’ when at 13.59 the ‘13.54 to Newcastle’ disapears to be replaced by ‘14.55 to Newcastle.’ At 14.05 nothing has been announced.  I call Train Information and am told that the train is delayed by fifteen minutes and is now due to leave at 13.09. My connection at Carlisle hangs in the balance. At Carlisle we pull into Platform 4,  where the 14.49  to Preston -‘On Time’-is due. When the Newcastle train finally pulls out at 14.50, the screens still state ‘14.49- ‘On Time,’ as the announcement says “The train approaching Platform 4 is the 14.49 from Glasgow to Preston.” Who do they think they are kidding? We pull out a few minutes later. By Oxenholm we are running 7 minutes late.

 When I go to the ticket office at Carlisle to enquire after an upgrade, I am told I’ll have to do that on the train because they can’t guarantee a seat here as they done know how many people will have upgraded. I express my surprise because I upgraded at the ticket office last time, as directed by platform staff. He looks bemused. “When was that?” “About three weeks ago..” He looks more bemused and mutters something about promotions. This means nothing to me. “ Anyway, you’ll have to buy it on the train....” This really is ‘Alice Through The Looking Glass.’ When the train pulls in there appears to be no-one in First Class at all. Still the first ‘Standard Class’ to roll into view, Coach E, is virtually empty so no need to upgrade anyway. Ahead of the game! For now...

Lancaster. The carriage suddenly fills up. 15.47- 'Preston next stop in about ten minutes'. 

Preston. We have a few minutes till our connection leaves. It is on the opposite platform so skip across, grab a table seat and continue with my work.

At Crewe, slight consternation as no London train advertised then it pops up.  ‘17.29 London Euston’. At 17.28, there is no sign of the train which has already been announced. At 17.29.00, the information board still says ‘On time’. I’m  seriously beginning to wonder if this is how train company punctuality is calculated. In the same way that if no one has told the Team Leader at Carlisle that a train was overcrowded and passengers advised not to take it, then it wasn’t overcrowded and passengers weren’t given bad advice.

Just because you’re paranoid....

We pull out about 17.32. Where did the train start? Has it already lost time since Manchester? Or did it come from WBQ?

“Due in London Euston 19.04”

19.03 Due to arrive in one minute. Exciting isn’t it?

19.04. Not there yet.. Internet in-operative.

19.05 ‘On Time’? Phone says 19.04...

And we’ve stopped. In a tunnel. 19.06/.05. Crawling in darkness.

And here we are. At the platform...

Stopped 19.08/07

Hoo-fucking-rah

Ongoing in Wigan... or not

October 11,  2010  09.30 Euston- Carlisle (Glasgow)

Should have realised that with the London tube system in spasm due to at least one defective train, when I arrived on board with 2 minutes to spare, (I so nearly surrendered at Highbury when I saw the whole ticket hall crammed with people) I shouldn’t have been surprised that the reservation notification system was not working and a woman with her young son had occupied my seat (The only reason I am catching the train at this ungodly hour is so I could reserve a table seat with socket) I am about to let her move to find seats elsewhere when I see a window seat opposite is vacant, so I relent and when the train sets off, slide in. I ask the guard as he passes if he can tell me whether this seat is reserved from London. He gives me the usual line that if it’s empty the person must not have turned up. I say Ive been told that before at which point the woman opposite says that it was hers but she moved to sit adjacent her colleague so (good of her to join in)-

I can relax.

Fuck me. How long till the Olympics?

At least we’re past the New Moon. Arent we?

09.48

Lovely day.

11.10 People around me started preparing for arrival at Warrington Bank Quay, our ‘first station stop’.

We pause for a while on the outskirts of a town, then people look around in confusion when we pull in to the station and it turns out to be Crewe.

After a pause,  the manager comes on the tannoy and apologises for our lateness. We are being asked to hold at the platform because of “an on-going incident in  the Wigan area”. Five minutes later, as I type this, we pull out and get underway with no further comment. We are running at least 20 minutes late, since it will take that long to reach WBQ which we were due to reach at 11 20-something.

11.30 Manager comes on the line. The train is terminating at Warrington Bank Quay. We are advised to ask there about ongoing travel.

At some point somebody announces that telephone train information says that there has been a fatality on the line.

We pull into the bleak jetty of WBQ and every one piles out. We are  instructed to stay on the platform and await instructions. There is not a great deal of room. This is repeated several times then the message changes to “Passengers waiting on Platform 3 are advise to cross to platform 4 where the  train approaching will continue to Edinburgh. Passengers wishing to go to Glasgow should change at Carlisle.”

The train pulls in and as the door in the front carriage opens, we form up to be greeted by the ‘Manager’ who looks bemused then declares that the train is only going as far as Wigan. We tell him we have been informed otherwise. He shrugs and we file aboard. It is a First Class coach but only a very rash member of Virgin staff will be foolish enough to point this out. More and more people pile on. Passengers and luggage crowd the aisles. A Health and Safety nightmare!

It doesn’t take long to travel up the line to the outskirts of Wigan where we pause and, inevitably, are then told the train will terminate. Everyone gathers themselves and the minutes pass as we stand reflecting uncharitably as to why those with suicidal tendencies are unable to choose a branch line on which to throw themselves.

At Wigan, the former Edinburgh train disgorges two trains-worth of ‘customers’ and we file down the stairs where a line of coaches blocks the station exit. Several of us have decided to pay for a taxi to avoid the chaos of the transfer to coaches and finally slip between two charabancs and head out on the road to Preston.

13.05 At Preston the startlingly overweight but generous CEO in the front seat says he will pay for the taxi and refuses any contribution. A genuinely nice man. There are several Glasgow and Edinburgh trains announced. I am informed by a member of staff that the blockage has now ended but there may be a staffing problem as Preston is the place where crews change shifts and the delayed services may leave trains without crews. Estimated arrivals of delayed trains slip back and  back on the screens. Eventually a Glasgow train pulls into a crowded platform. It’s a short Voyager service. People pile on,  hanging out the doors till the stuffed train leaves. There is a second Glasgow train due in on the opposite platform but it pulls in, already crowded. Those who could find a place or who passed on the earlier Glasgow train, hoping it would absorb the crush, pile on. The ‘lobbies’ are all packed, let alone the invisible carriage interiors. It eventually slides off with its cargo of human cattle.

Those of us only aiming for stations up to Carlisle, have waited for the third Scottish service,  an Edinburgh-bound train that pulls in around 14.05. There’s still a fair few folk waiting.  It’s another short 'Voyager.' We have aligned with the First Class carriage and nip on while others queue politely for the Second class door adjacent. A staff member has followed us and told us in no uncertain terms that the train has not been 'de-classified', or at least, that will be up to the ‘On-board Manager.’ I dart through ahead of the polite queue and, with a member of HM Customs and Excise, grab two seats opposite a pert, brisk lady barrister surrounded by her briefs. The journey to Carlisle is uneventful. Having just missed a Dumfries train, I have about fifty minutes to wait and eventually arrive at my destination 'station stop' three hours behind schedule.

RETURN

Saturday 23/10/10  Delays from the north have been cleared by the time I arrive in DMF for 11.55 to Carlisle. Board the 12.49 with a £15 upgrade to First Class, bought in advance at the Ticket Office. Grey tea and a draft around my ankles. Crow-voiced female train manager blares into tannoy, turned up too loud and too close to the mike. Who trains them? She keeps on fluffing her announcements, leaving us hanging in suspense. She is replaced at Preston by a professional  “It’s being so cheerful that keeps me going”  Lancastrian: “I hate working on Saturdays”.

14.50 We are invited to ‘purchase any further refreshments.’ Clearly the pack of crisps, grey tea and a piece of shortbread is the limit of the First Class Hospitality today.

Otherwise an unremarkable trip. I look around and think why can’t all citizens travel in this degree of hardly opulent comfort? It certainly is a relief to have the space and the light. Broadband should be free to all.

It's quiet, Captain. Too quiet.

 July 2010  Euston Dmf. Edinburgh-Preston. Preston London.  No problems. None at all nada. Zilch Zip

There is a green hill far away..

Easter  2010

Saturday 2010 LONDON-DMF 9.54.

Seat- Reserved on-line as expected. Train not full.  There’s a lesson here somewhere.

RETURN DMF LONDON. Check website just in case. Announcement of Scotrail Industrial action and interruption of service between Kilmarnock and Dumfries.  A link to bus service timetable: a bus leaves DMF station at 13.08.  Damn, it’s 12.00 now. Phone National Rail help line.  Connection to India. The slightly confused chap has no record of trouble. 13.55 is running normally. Next I phone automated tracker. 13.55 service is confirmed but there is ‘Important Information About This Service.’  “Do I wish to hear the message?” Damn right! I punch the button and I am told there is Industrial Action  “We have no more information about this.” Fuck sake! I call a third time and this time a gentleman in India very confidently assures me that there is industrial action but the 13.55 will be running as advertised. Just as well I didn’t turn up for the 13.08 bus, then.

At Dumfries, the notice board announces “13.55….. On time.” Beneath a continuous rolling band states “12th -14^th Changes to Service, Check for details” (or something similar). At 14.00 when the train rolls in, the board still states “13.55…On time.”

At Carlisle the 14.49 to Euston is ‘Delayed’. Apparently it is stuck somewhere near Motherwell behind a 'failed train.' The replacement loco has just arrived on site but it will be at least an hour. I check with the ticket office. The very sweet and helpful young lady makes a special call to ‘The Box’ and after much repetition of ‘No problemo,’ at her end, confirms that if I catch the 15.09 train to Birmingham, I can pick up a London train at Crewe. True, the Birmingham train is also delayed by half an hour but it’s my best bet. By 15.30 the delayed Birmingham train is only 6 mins ahead of the delayed 14.49 which is ten minutes ahead of the 15.49 –‘On time.’ Shall I wait for the less cluttered 15.49 after the ’14.49’ has picked up the bulk of the people bound for London?  Decide to see how busy the ‘14.49’ is. As it approaches, careful attention to the announcement, reveals the train is coming in backwards- (what happened up the line, there...?)  so I speedwalk past bemused fellow ‘customers’ to the other end of the platform- the mythical ‘Goldzone’ normally reserved for First Class customers. It’s a heady feeling. The Quiet Coach A is  half full, possibly because nearly all the seats are Reserved- and many remain empty for the rest of the journey.

The carriage is chilly with cold air blasting from the overhead vents. When the Train Manager come to check our tickets from Carlisle, the lady opposite me who has been enduring this since Glasgow with an hour’s delay, repeats a request made just out of Glasgow to turn up the temperature.  He protests that he has already adjusted the thermostat. ‘To 21’ –- phew!-  We point out that evidently that isn’t enough. He says he can’t adjust it any more in case he gets protests it’s too hot. He shakes his head, as if asking us to share his long-suffering disbelief (The temperature is adjustable carriage by carriage)-  and suggests the lady move carriage.

He disappears. “Your problem, then,” mutters a man from across the aisle. We speculate on what it would be like to  be a fly on the wall at a Virgin Staff training session. What do they teach them? “To lie” says the exasperated and possibly hypothermic lady opposite me. The conversation segues through the effect of hypothermia on plane passengers – (apparently the passengers of one fatal crash were all thought to have been dead or unconscious when it hit) to the awful Pendolino carriage design which is cramped, smelly and doesn’t even let you enjoy the view but does at least offer a better guarantee of surviving a high speed crash. Interesting priorities. The gent across the aisle notes we are passing by the site of the last fatal Virgin crash and our corner of the Quiet Carriage goes extremely quiet, apart from the surf of someone’s i-Pod down the way. We all note our body temperatures have risen slightly.

Somewhere between Glasgow and Carlisle someone has vomited in the Quiet coach toilet. It’s an admirably a neat job, though. I note that, although one of the On Board staff was the one to find it- apparently the door had jammed- no one comes to give a wee scrub round. “Is this Toilet Squeaky clean?” blares the poster in the toilet, “If Not Let one of our On-Board staff know.” I had often wondered whether, if anyone had ever bothered to stagger along the train to find an invisible Train Manager, it would make any difference. Now I know.

Question: How does a blind person know to feel for the brail notice warning them to Mind The Step on leaving the cubicle (Assuming that they haven’t tripped over it on the way in)?

The delay increases from 53 minutes to 55, to 58. At Preston the new train manager has a grating Manc voice, the volume on her PA is too high  and she leans too close to the mike. Every time she makes an announcement- do we really need to know, once we’re on the move, that the next and only ‘station call’ will be London?- everyone flinches as if a low flying jet is passing overhead. We never see her.

The temperature inches up then plummets again as we race through Staffordshire

The train arrives 61 minutes late. Everyone feels wrung out.

 

Last Winter

 Dec 5^th 2009  DMF-LONDON

Carlisle. Is it pedantic of me to feel quizzical as ‘15.09,’ the scheduled departure time for my train, clicks up on the electric clock over the empty platform while the information  panel above still reads ‘London Euston 15.09. On Time’

Is this the ‘newspeak’ of the rail network?  A train isn’t late as long as the board says it’s on time. There’s always a hope the customers won’t notice. I am gratified however to note that the board also advertises ‘Buffet service.’ Will that be separate from the ‘On-Board Shop selling a variety of hot and cold beverages, snacks…” ?

As this train of thought loses the will to live, the snout of a locomotive comes in view and the 15.09 to London Euston oozes into Carlisle at 15.10. Still ‘On time’.

I was genuinely impressed by the friendly and quick service when booking my seat at Dumfries station-  

(Once I’d located a member of staff- ‘Office closed while attending to other duties. Please consult staff on platform.’ Says the notice. There were no staff on the platform.

“Hallo-oo… Hallo?” (etc) Wondering if Wully McHay might make an appearance out the mist…)

I digress-

Genuinely impressed by the Scotrail ticket office service, I still wasn’t too surprised to find when I got on board the train at Carlisle that the seat with a socket I had requested didn’t materialise. However, the train wasn’t busy and adjacent there was an entirely unreserved bay (‘This seat has not been reserved’ – Now, don’t tell me I’m going to get boosted from HERE…) So, no bother.

Coach D is an airy ‘Voyager’-model carriage (so I’m told) with a poky wee counter at one end but arranged in the old style with 4 seats to a window. A proper carriage in contrast to the claustrophobic Pendolino cigar tube with its seats and windows in no particular relation to each other (The Spanish AVE  manages it, why can’t Virgin, eh?) Remarkable how this instantly makes the train ride innately more pleasurable.

Even if the journey on a Saturday afternoon is scheduled  to take over an hour longer than usual…

Nothing on the website to explain this anomaly. A phone call to National Rail can only confirm the journey time so at Carlisle I ask a clutch of platform staff – (No longer in those ridiculous teddy bear greatcoats. No wonder they used to hide) Two immediately bleed away into the background.

Yes, the timetable is correct, says the third. The reason: engineering works after Preston.

Ah. But  the website didn’t say anything about this.

“ I can’t comment on that”

Of course not. So we will be going more slowly?

 “And be diverted via Manchester”....

The On Board Shop, which really is like an old style buffet- (I’m feeling more and more affectionate towards my Voyager Coach D)– can’t process any card transactions. This doesn’t bother me, and they do have functioning hot water and enough change (for now).

The lavatory at the end of the carriage towards First Class is out of order. The one right at the other end of  Coach C is functioning. Bit tough if you’re  an old dear with dodgy pins and a weak bladder using one of the Priority Seats in this carriage.  Usual sticky glaze of dried fluids on the floor with garnish of tissue. The soap, water and dryer all work, though, “Hurrah!”

 ‘Is this toilet squeaky clean?’ Well, no, not really, but who honestly is going to peer up at the train manager  as he comes by, and tell him; still less and go and find a member of on board staff , and say ‘By the way- Actually- the lavatory that is working wasn’t really that squeaky clean… Actually.”?

If no one says anything, it must be fine. “Well, we have very few complaints…” Oh, Brave New World.

CHRISTMAS

21/12/09  LONDON-DUMFRIES

When I arrived at Euston at 11.15, the station heaving with Christmas cheer, packed into a thousand fucking house-sized suitcases on fucking wheels, the platform for the 11.30 Glasgow train had not been announced- ‘Still Preparing’ in Virgin Speak. The concourse is packed, rank upon rank of Christmas travellers all peering up like hopeful shepherds at the information screens.

I have time to buy a tea and baguette from Upper Crust, where only one girl is serving but, remarkably, deals with the pressure with grace and efficiency. Mercifully, no one in front wants a mochachino with extra nuts. Now experienced in the ways of corporate snack provision, I give her all the information up front :

“Brie baguette, please. Medium tea.”

“Milk?” (Damn!)

“Sure”

 She's slick and quick, a pleasure to watch when time is short but, as she turns to me with my orders, she can’t resist asking “Any cakes, pastries, blah blah.” Two-point fault at the double gate.

“No, I just want a train, now. Please. The smile fixed, shark-like, on my face. She laughs and, having recovered at the last fence, deserves the monstrous 25 pence tip I leave with  the change.

The 11.35 to Tring is announced. The 11.40 to Manchester. The 11.30 hangs at the end of the row of screens in a state of ‘Preparing’ A mother mutters to her daughter, “Well, they’ll have to announce it soon.” A puppy whines anxiously.

11.23.30. a female voice drones  “The train at Platform 8 is the 11.30--  and like grey hounds out of the trap the crowd surges forward, a vanguard of scuttling students, trailing luggage like runaway chariots, weaving back and forth, regardless of whose path they cross. Like a flock of starlings we wheel left as one onto the top of the ramp to the platforms. I am relieved, to see they have not decided to hold a ticket check at the barrier.  As we surge down, a clutch of boot-faced Virgin staff scowl on the sidelines, looking on with disdain as this tide of customers races to get try and get a seat for their £92. I wonder if they have been stood down because of the late announcement and feel thwarted. “All that potentially lost revenue…”

I  have a seat reserved A 43A, so-called Airline, in the so-called Quiet Coach, so I am moderately relaxed but I always feel the need to get on as soon as possible to avoid any possible embuggerance,  at least secure a space for luggage, maybe (but probably not today), ‘upgrade’ to a table, even. (I think not, today)

It’s no surprise to see that there are no reservations indicated in the electronic panels above the seats. Just as well to be on board early, then. I resign any hope of upgrading as the train is obviously hopelessly over-subscribed  Chaos ensues as the main body of passengers floods aboard. With weary resignation, people mill around, as much as that is possible in the narrow tube of the carriage, looking for free seats, trying to identify booked seats, stow their luggage. It’s all remarkably good-natured. Finally, the ‘Manager’ comes on the tannoy, “Welcome on board this Virgin Pendolino to Glasgow… As this is a busy service this morning, the First Class coaches will be blah, blah, blah and coach G will now be Standard Class.” So the peons who have booked ahead struggle to deal with the fact that no reserved seats are marked while the foolish Virgins get a nice roomy ride. To be fair, given the season, a lot of people may have tried to reserve and failed.

Gradually, people have sorted themselves out but as the train departs, presumably late but I wasn’t paying attention, the computer finally posts the reservation notices. Those in unreserved seats, good naturedly give up their hard won seats, but a woman is still moving up and down trying to identify her reserved seats, perplexed by the fact that they are occupied but also by the fact that some seats are missing their numbers.  Next to me, I have an elderly mittel European gent travelling with his granddaughter who,  having struggled into the window seat then spills over into my allotted space: feet, legs, arse, shoulders. It gets a little tense when he spreads out to read his newspaper as if he was in a café but we bond over the poor design of the carriage and the generally shit service. The woman re-appears, having been told by the guard just to get a seat in the de-classified coach but there are only two seats free and with her daughters she is three so, reasonably enough, they want to sit together. She has plucked up courage to ask people to move and they settle down next to me. It turns out the anxious puppy is theirs. He whines insistently, no doubt picking up the waves of stress running up and down the carriage.

12.46. Things have quietened down. No more developments. The Manager turns up to check tickets. A friendly man, his face dry and red with stress. I ask why the Glasgow train always seems to be announced so late. “Just a quick turn around, really. We didn’t leave very late, just a few minutes. We normally have 30 minutes.”

My point is that with only five minutes to get a whole trainload of passengers boarded and with the reservations not marked it is chaotic. It turns out the computerised reservation system was frozen and it requires a minimum of 15 minutes to upload reservations and with the train coming in late from Wolverhampton or Birmingham, there wasn’t time resolve the matter.

Well, let’s hope we don’t lose any more time. In the mean time it is getting hotter and hotter…

Lovely day outside though.

Go for a coffee and come back  to find the old gent and his daughter have panicked thinking I had got off at Oxenholme and were trying to hand my laptop to someone on the platform. This all confided by the Glaswegian  lady with the needy puppy.

Things are getting tight. The guard says there’s no guarantee the Dumfries train will be held

Carlisle. We arrive as the Dumfries train is due to leave.  The door from Carriage A onto the platform is blocked by luggage piled high.  Pell mell over the bridge and round to platform 7. All well. It’s been held. Or was it merely running late as well?

RETURN DUMFRIES-LONDON

8.1.10 19.55. Call Virgin to try to reserve a seat for tomorrow. At 20.25, I hang up after half an hour of a

female voice with a slight Indian accent saying “Thank you for holding” every 20 seconds. Was there something I didn’t understand about  “Bear with me while I connect you with someone who can help.”? As an experiment, I dial again. Exactly the same drill. Give up after another five minutes. Cursing vilely. What about “We are experiencing high volume of calls’? What about “Leave us your number and someone will call you back without losing your place in the queue.” Fuck their eyes. May they die screaming in flames.

Up early and call at 9.00. Try again. First  attempt. I intone ‘Something Else.’ The ‘option’ draws a blank. Asking for ‘Existing Booking’ gets me put through to ‘Purchase a ticket’. Fuck. Not in the mood for this. Third attempt. ‘Existing booking’. Hallelujah. First the obligatory confusion about my wishing to book the return half of my journey which I repeat about five times. WHY IS IT SO FUCKING DIFFICULT? Complicated rigmarole about my reference number, which, it turns out is now on the ticket. Good. She goes off with two possible train times. All I ask is for a socket seat ( i.e .‘& table’). She eventually comes back and has got me a seat on the 13.55- first choice but no table. Still: Result!  Try to flirt with her to make up for my monosyllabic curtness (the only way I can avoid unhelpful sarcasm).

Carlisle. 14.49. Expected at 14.52. Not too bad. Gentle enquiry of usual trio of cucculli platform staff  meets with usual dour sense of “Don’t ask me.”

 “Are things running smoothly down the line- as smoothly as can be expected?”

“Good as can be expected.” Then a condescending snort, “We can’t tell what’s going on there from here..”  

What?

At W.H.Smith, buying Guardian, invited to buy Telegraph and get my water free. What?  “Do you get many takers?” I ask.  “No!” She laughs.  

Train now expected at 14.55 and duly slides in. Coach C not very busy. Don’t bother to look for my seat as there a plenty of tables only occupied by one person. Even a window seat unreserved. Opposite a hungover-looking actor in front of a photocopy script of  ‘Witness for the Prosecution’. Looks about as much fun  as it sounds. He stares glumly out the window. As we get under way he drops his head with a theatrical sigh.

Very soon we stop in the middle of blank, white  Cumberland farmland. At Penrith we stop for even longer. Signal problems apparently. By Lancaster we are 40 minutes behind schedule. ‘Lineside equipment.’ – i.e. it’s not Virgin’s fault.

When was it they re-launched this line?

Ride in perpetual gloaming from Penrith down to Morecambe Bay. Gleam of silver off water. Blencathra in low light from west, its profile traced against peach sky and  its usually dark bulk, misty and translucent in silvery fore light.

Still- loos working. ‘Shop’ hot drinks functioning. Won’t tempt fate any further ….

It’s the ‘Voyager’ effect

-=-

Early March:  Journey LONDON_DMF LONDON  Trouble free! If only life could always be this dull.

After some time away..

JOURNEY MONDAY  16^th Nov 2009  LONDON WARRINGTON LONDON

Booking clerk at Euston a miserable sod.

My reserved Seat is not Quiet, not at table – ‘Airline’ in D. Why am I not surprised?

Manage to get a table seat- having had to move from initial Quiet Coach as reserved seats were not correctly marked

Ask guard about reservations. She says the passengers who asked me to move could have been lying. ‘Did I check their tickets?’ Anyway its  ‘Not a matter for her’.

By Warrington we are running 20 minutes late, apparently because of delays at Milton Keynes but no announcement  was made.

Journey aborted here because of phone call summoning me back to London. On return from Warrington, no hot water. Surreal conversation with attendant. I ask why the hot water is such a problem on all these trains. “There are X other Pendolinos in service. They can’t all have faulty boilers.” Oh no?

JOURNEY 30^th November LONDON-DUMFRIES-LONDON

No reservation possible. The online booking did not notify me  before  I made the transaction. It turns out, having made a specific seat request, they don’t say whether you have been successful, you have to ask for ‘further details.’ Helpful.

At Euston, the platform is announced with ten minutes to spare. Passengers arriving on train from Manchester at Platform 15 surging out of same two gates as passengers for Glasgow race for platform 14. Helpful.

On board, no reservations marked. Chaos. Announcement  “Reservations still downloading. Those without reservations, please make your way to coach D.”  In coach A no one can move in or out.  Eventually the seat I grab proves to be reserved. Fortunately the reserved seats opposite  are not occupied.

When the guard eventually appears, his demeanour makes it clear there is no point complaining about chaos. I ask if the sign ‘Reserved’ but with no other details means I won’t be disturbed. Categorically ‘Yes.’ They should have got on board at Euston. At Warrington I am asked to move by woman who has reservation  for  my seat. Couple opposite at my old table tell me they are getting off at Preston. When they leave. I go back to take on of their seat. Hardly surprised when shortly after I am asked to move by people who have boarded at Preston.

The train is late at Carlisle, no warning given but fortunately the Dumfries train is being held.

(No hot water in ‘The Shop’. No water at all in the lavatory basin tap. But the soap dispenser works fine... Helpful)