December 10, 2005

• To Peterborough, by Train

  "I bet Dad's trip to Peterborough was by train: everyone's stories of this town seem to involve trains."

  
  

  I believe there was a train involved in the whole hideousness of Dad's trouser loss - however, I've been informed that he left said trousers in the overhead locker on the plane.  Why he was transporting the Paternal-In-Law's trousers by plane, I know not.  However, this does explain why both my Mother and I have an absolutely huge urge to not use the overhead lockers if at all possible.  I have a travel bag which is big enough to carry masses of tat (including the medecines, spongebag, and spare knickers on top of book, craft item, iPod or other personal music device, tickets and passport, and food) but still fits under the seat in front (note, it is necessary to have medecines, spongebag, and spare knickers so that one can at least function for 24 hours after arrival until lost luggage turns up, or you've had a chance to get some spare pants elsewhere).

  
  

  My own Peterborough story also involves a train.  It was quite hideous - and I wasn't actually on the train.  My former fiasco, Benj (and before he became my fiasco, too - what I was thinking, I don't know), was the culprit.  The plan was for him to get the train from Coventry to Norwich, so he could sit next to me while I drove from Norwich to York to get to my new University.  My Mother not believing that I was capable of navigating myself there on my own.  Navigation was not Benj's strongest point, but he might have come in useful to change any punctured tyres or something (I would have phoned the AA, but that's just me.  Those pneumatic nut tighteners they use in garages render the common or garden wrench thingy that you get with cars completely useless.  Jumping up and down on the lever only bends it, it doesn't actually persuade the thing to turn).  So.  On the train he got.  Change at Peterborough, onto the train to Ely.  Except he didn't.  He got on the Intercity125 type train to Edinburgh instead.  Ely, Edinburgh, well, anyone could make that mistake.  He didn't notice his mistake until he got to Leeds, which is about one and a half hours down the line (or is that up the line?  Who cares).  At which point, he bailed, panicked, phoned us, and ended up in a hotel of some description.

  
  

  So, I ended up driving to York via the centre of Peterborough, rather than skirting round the outside, and collecting him from the station.  I'm not terribly competent with directions, particularly in built up areas.  I like long stretches of open road, me.  I got lost several times on the way into Peterborough and was in a thorough muddle, and, to make it worse, the traffic was appalling (I remember reversing somewhere or other, and it was wet, it was horrid, and I have only the most blurred memories of why I was reversing, but it was a bit hairy).  It was Saturday, it was shopping day and I think there was a football match on.  And I overshot the station.  Not only did I overshoot the station, it took me at least an hour to get to the nearest roundabout, and turn round back on myself, and make it into the station.  The signposting wasn't exactly clear. 

  
  

  I was absolutely livid when I finally found him - because he wasn't sitting anywhere obvious.  He was sat next to the door, to the side of the door, reading.  I got all the way into the station, down the platform, into the loo (I was desperate by that point) and back into the foyer and out again without him noticing.  Or me noticing him.  My poor road atlas bore the brunt of my temper, I think it went flying at one point - when I lose my temper, I lose it good and proper, and it's a bit safer to take it out on inanimate objects which can't fight back.  Even if the poor thing now has a somewhat detatched cover.  Yes, I do feel guilty about that.

  
  

  But really.  What sort of muppet manages to mistake a local train for an Intercity Train, and doesn't notice for an hour and a half?  When the local journey should take about half an hour?  It could have been worse.  The ticket inspector on the train might have noticed that he was on the wrong train, and fined him.

  
  

  I am still saving my Secret Pal parcel for a quite moment.  I am thoroughly enjoying the anticipation at the moment.  But, I have to go and buy some prawns for supper (Ian is descending, of his own accord, tonight).

  
  

  xxx

  • 9:35 am
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