Train Trip

Getting on the train at the first stop and seeing a forest of reserved tickets should have alerted me to the fact that the train was going to be busy. Instead of picking an unreserved seat, the obviously sensible course of action, I picked a seat that was reserved from my destination, Cardiff, or so I thought. As more and more passengers claimed their reservations, evicting hapless travellers from their seats, it wasn't very long before my turn was up. So, I grabbed my bag, squeezed past the person in the outside seat, pulled my coat from the rack above and joined the mass of seat-less passengers swaying in the narrow walkway. At the next stop it was all change, as everyone had to do the soft shoe shuffle to get off, on, or grab an empty seat.

I was pushed, shoved and attacked by 'ankle-biter' cases on wheels that were being dragged around with no regard for anyones' ankles and I ended up in the space between carriages, just outside the conductor's carriage. Some-one offered me one of the fold-down seats and I felt as though I was waiting outside the Headmaster's office for a good telling off! This small space was getting more and more crowded with young men clutching large cardboard cups of a Starbucks liquid. Eye to eye (so to speak) with some strange guy's crotch was not good a good place to be.

That was only a short trip. My next one was longer and involved three changes. Stupidly, I wore cowboy boots with a heel. Luggage consisted of my small ankle-biter and a well filled soft bag, both heavy. "Please mind the gap between the train and the platform" became a dreaded mantra; getting off the train was an insight into human behaviour. I can't see the point of gathering round the door of a train waiting to get on before the passengers have got off. My solution was to throw my luggage onto the platform, gingerly negotiate the aforementioned gap in the heels, then march off through the crowd dragging my luggage and leaving people picking themselves up off the platform. Getting on was a bit more problematical, because being well mannered (well, until provoked!) and practical i.e. letting people get off the train before I attempted to get on, meant I was pushed and shoved to the back. Preferable, I suppose, than ending up on the rails. Again I perfected a technique of throwing the ankle-biter on first, and pulling myself up by the rail dragging the bag (those darned boots again).

Reaching my destination I was then pushing against the crowd who were rushing for the connecting train, and, being twice as wide with luggage, getting stuck in the station doors. For the home journey I packed the heels, wore soft boots and balanced the soft bag on top of the wheelie. One lives, learns and collects bruises.