Does It Get You Where You Want To Go? (Railways in general)

Member Name: Herrick

Product:	Railways in general
Date:	01/08/01 (39 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: Not too many advantages to remember

Disadvantages: Too many disadvantages to read through

Have you ever been surprised by your rail provider? Have you ever been given more than you expected by any company? Do you ever believe the notion that the that the pubescent mound of female gristle who serves you is ‘passionate’ about getting you the most a***-spankingly yummy (it’s not through choice that I use that word) Ciabata roll filled with Ambrosia squeezed freshly by naked angels on an idyllic hillside in Sicilia? I didn’t think that you did. Unfortunately, we recognise the ‘passion’ of a company for what it is, a veneer that disguises the hunger for more profits. In a world like this we are rarely surprised (I might as well stick my head in an oven now but I think the thought of it being advertised by my gas company as the ultimate natural gas-induced, emotional interface will keep me going).

Now I have primed you, got you all hot of collar and moist of cushion I’m going to throw a curveball into the mix. I’m also going to try to mix a few more metaphors, so watch out. I can remember an occasion when I was surprised by the service of a rail company. Perhaps it’s a sorry state of affairs when we remember happy times on a train because of their sparseness, their rarity. It’s like remembering having supped from a welcoming Oasis rather than scratching around in a grey-dry unfeatured desert. Still, lest I rain on the parade, I had a good time once and I think you deserve to hear it.

I lost my innocence on the 5:12 to Euston.

I feel that there is a worrying amount of a Dear Diary (Anne) frankness that I am exhibiting at the moment. This is something that I have never told anyone but my best friend and a subject that I would not dare broach with my wife (even after the drunken wine-run on the Eurostar last Christmas. I was full of spirit on that occasion but lacking in the fearlessness of my youth). Perhaps it is a good thing. Maybe it’s my subconscious purging my mind
so that I can sleep at night. Maybe its that same subconscious (as I only have one) enjoying the fact that you get your rocks off over my titillating traintales (I like the rhythm of that last section, reminds me of the rhythmic motions of those speeding bullets into echoing dark tunnels. Perhaps I’ll give the rest of this opinion a similar feel.)

More of the dirt you say.

Well, to cut a long story short, the young lady in question was the Train Manager, a petite girl, not more than twenty-five. I had tried to sneak into the first class reserve so that I could rest my weary bones without the approval of the Great Unwashed. She caught me. I was seventeen, short on confidence, but big on excuses and I thought ‘Sod it, let’s talk my way out of this one.’. I gave a terribly slack-jawed attempt to chat her up, and I then remember my face throbbing with redness and the colour of the carpet. It was then that my luck held out.

She mistook me for Rob Someoneorother, whom she had seen on a Michael Barrymore chatsplosion. I had a guitar with me, one that was taking to London for a gig and I think she linked it and my hair style (to call it avant garde would be to give the pop mullet a new edge and kudos that it never deserves to attain, but you get the picture. I would have done better to have had the mullet in my guitar case and the guitar on my head. Still, at Oxford, the world and his wife tried to be different, so I just wanted to look so ridiculous that I could single-handedly end the striving to be someone else that Oxford students have. It was a tall order, but my hair was up to the task. I digress, as did the hair running down my neck.)

I’m going to talk about my hairstyle out of those brackets as I think it deserves it’s own space. It’s funny because when I was engaged in this nightmare hair affair I began to get all kinds of attentions. It’s amazing how stupid people are. How easilyt
hey will believe any rubbish you tell them as long as you come across well. When I talk down to people, they are more inclined to listen, and when I grow my hair, they think me intellectual. Well with my mullet I must have looked like a Liverpudlian poet, because she believed me when I spouted about my up-and-coming career. I had grasped this nettle of a lie at the base and was about to pull it off.

Realising that the issue of my dodged first class fare had faded into the ether, and that the conversation seemed to be going better and better, I asked cheekily about what a passenger could expect for a first class fare. I then heard the most block-rockingly stupid thing. She said, “You can’t spell ‘Passenger’ without a pass at an ass”. She wasn’t clever, but I was soon to find out that she had been given more than the basic training. From that sentence I realised one thing: this is too easy.

I don’t want to divulge any details about that most pleasant of moments for me. This is not for me, you understand, but to preserve her dignity. She might remember or read this. Also, dear reader, I do it for you, because tales of my white ass bouncing up and down have been known to stop dinner parties and ruin reputations. All I will say is that the toilets of the Inter City trains are the most unromantic places on God’s sanitised earth. I do not recommend it, nor do I condone my actions but I would do it again.

And so there you have it. I have had one pleasant experience on our nation's trains. Next time you are on one for an extended period of time, look up at the indicator lights for the toilets and you will invariably find them on all the time. Then look for giggling young couples, congratulate for not taking part in the degradation of the rail service, and offer them a cigarette, to smoke once they have gotten off.

It’s funny now because that particular route has been taken over byVirgin
Trains, the irony never ceases to be lost on me. I can also say that I have never been asked to get my stub out since without laughing.


Herrick

Summary: