- 'I'm as mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore!

As I stood last night on a God-forsaken corner in Carlisle- and in Carlisle that means God-for-fuck-saken, wondering if there would be a bus, wondering if there'd be room and what would happen at the other end;  as the temperature eased down below zero while the wind cozied round our ankles and nuzzled up under our gussets,  I thought of all the other journeys that have faltered and died with a consumptive cough on the platform of Carlisle station and wondered if this is a law of the universe or if I have an sign on my forehead in ink visible only to the sprites of the open road saying "Fuck with this man, he's good for a laugh!"

We should have been quarter of an hour down the track already, but the train was dead, dead without even a whimper, and going to stay dead. And the next train was dead, doubly dead, because it would have been the same train shuttled back down the line. So, I wondered and  hummed along with Iggy-

I am the passenger and I ride and I ride
I ride through the city's backsides

This is the third train journey in a row that has ended in an unscheduled bus ride. The fourth journey in a row by rail or air where we- the passengers- have been shafted by incompetent, indifferent travel managementchiks.

It's not the weather that's the problem. The problem is indifference. The problem is contempt. They call us 'customers,'  deftly removing the concept of actually getting us anywhere, they cram us into their nasty trains like cattle, abandon us in the Wigans of this world and, if we cut up rough, dispense a cardboard Comment Form, hoping it will absorb our rage like an own-brand Band Aid.

It's not 'frustration' I feel. It's not 'disappointment.' It's rage. It's fury, borne of a deep, pulsing loathing for Virgin Rail. And now let Scotrail feel my holy wrath.

I'm as mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore!

I am not a customer- I AM A PASSENGER!

Oh, the passenger
How, how he rides
Oh, the passenger
He rides and he rides

He looks through his window
What does he see?
He sees the sign and hollow sky
He sees the stars come out tonight
He sees the city's ripped backsides

 Singing  la la la la la, lala la la
              la la la la la, lala la la

              la la la la la, lala la la

 Let me take you back a few years..