Mid afternoon Eurostar back to London. Same again in reverse and arrived on time. All I needed was for FCC to take me the last 20 miles of my journey to St Albans in time to head to Vicarage Road to watch the glory Hornet boys in action. Should be no problem, plenty of time in hand.
Arrived at FCC entrance to see a train was due in 2 minutes, and running on time. Perfect! Sprinted down to platform to find that, in the space of 30 seconds it had been delayed by 15 minutes. I waited, waited some more, and looked back at the departure board to see that it, and several other trains that would have been suitable, had been cancelled. Eventually forced my way onto a slow train and made it home just in time.
Thursday, 11 February 2010
Monday 8th February, 2010
No dramas this morning.
Eurostar to Paris this evening. Nice warm departure lounge, nice clean train, left on time, went very, very fast, didn't break down and arrived on time. Now that's the way to do it!
Eurostar to Paris this evening. Nice warm departure lounge, nice clean train, left on time, went very, very fast, didn't break down and arrived on time. Now that's the way to do it!
Friday, 5 February 2010
Friday 5th February, 2010
Arrived at station this morning, ears numb after an evening's entertainment with Rammstein last night. Thought I heard the station announcer apologising for the screens showing duff information. Must have misheard. No, there it is again. Blimey, its taken them long enough to realise that!
No travel problems today.
Met the managers at St Albans tonight. I was reassured that (a) the 5% compensation had been decided on by other management and if we don't think its enough to compensate for what we've had to endure then there isn't a damn thing we can do about it and (b) the entire fleet of trains is due to be replaced in 2013, but in the meantime we have to make do with the 23 new trains and 98 old trains we've already got, but not to worry as there is an ongoing refurbishment programme that will improve their interiors and reliability. Walked home. Had to duck to avoid the pig flying around the station forecourt.
No travel problems today.
Met the managers at St Albans tonight. I was reassured that (a) the 5% compensation had been decided on by other management and if we don't think its enough to compensate for what we've had to endure then there isn't a damn thing we can do about it and (b) the entire fleet of trains is due to be replaced in 2013, but in the meantime we have to make do with the 23 new trains and 98 old trains we've already got, but not to worry as there is an ongoing refurbishment programme that will improve their interiors and reliability. Walked home. Had to duck to avoid the pig flying around the station forecourt.
Thursday 4th February, 2010
Sat down this morning and was joined by a young lady who occupied her entire journey with what I believe is commonly referred to as 'putting on the slap’. Actually this is quite a common sight as quite a number of commuters (mostly female) use their travel time to this effect.
For the most part I find this a harmless activity, and I've no fundamental objection to it. Indeed one of my greatest pleasures is a sharp application of the brakes while the current Mrs Wild is putting on her lippy in the passenger seat. How she laughs! However there was one aspect in this particular instance that did cause me a degree of discomfort.
The process varies in complexity and duration (presumably depending on the degree of transformation thought to be required) but almost always consists of the same fundamental elements. First the tool kit is produced. Usually a small-ish bag, resembling a pencil case, and mirror. Then follows an initial survey, followed by application of a matt undercoat. The water colour tin is then produced and differing top coats are applied to certain, presumably key, features (either by hand or using some form of paintbrush). Felt tips and crayons are then used to apply delicate final touches around the eyes and mouth.
I do wonder how ladies are able to create such works of art whilst in a moving vehicle, and in full public view. What happens if there is a sudden lurch, or they make a mistake? I remember chucking tins of airfix paint across the room after an accidental slip of the hand rendered the Hawker Hurricane cockpit windscreen opaque, but I've never seen that happen on the train. I’ve also never seen it all have to be rubbed out and started again. Perhaps the trick is to just carry on and pretend it was meant it to look like that all the time.
Anyway, usually that’s the process finished, but not this time. The piece de resistance was to follow. The toolkit was put away, and a small bottle produced from the handbag. Then, without so much as a ‘Do you mind if I ...’, or ‘Brace yourself, this might smart a bit ...’ a blast of perfume was applied to each wrist along with, it seemed, much of the surrounding area. For all I know this could have an expensive vintage from one of the Great French Perfume Houses, but at that proximity to the blast zone, and in a confined area, it was no less than a hostile assault on the nostrils, testing the gag reflex to the limit. Not the sort of reaction I suspect the lady in question was looking for.
Still, I suppose it masked the usual underlying smell of a decaying FCC carriage, at least for a day.
For the most part I find this a harmless activity, and I've no fundamental objection to it. Indeed one of my greatest pleasures is a sharp application of the brakes while the current Mrs Wild is putting on her lippy in the passenger seat. How she laughs! However there was one aspect in this particular instance that did cause me a degree of discomfort.
The process varies in complexity and duration (presumably depending on the degree of transformation thought to be required) but almost always consists of the same fundamental elements. First the tool kit is produced. Usually a small-ish bag, resembling a pencil case, and mirror. Then follows an initial survey, followed by application of a matt undercoat. The water colour tin is then produced and differing top coats are applied to certain, presumably key, features (either by hand or using some form of paintbrush). Felt tips and crayons are then used to apply delicate final touches around the eyes and mouth.
I do wonder how ladies are able to create such works of art whilst in a moving vehicle, and in full public view. What happens if there is a sudden lurch, or they make a mistake? I remember chucking tins of airfix paint across the room after an accidental slip of the hand rendered the Hawker Hurricane cockpit windscreen opaque, but I've never seen that happen on the train. I’ve also never seen it all have to be rubbed out and started again. Perhaps the trick is to just carry on and pretend it was meant it to look like that all the time.
Anyway, usually that’s the process finished, but not this time. The piece de resistance was to follow. The toolkit was put away, and a small bottle produced from the handbag. Then, without so much as a ‘Do you mind if I ...’, or ‘Brace yourself, this might smart a bit ...’ a blast of perfume was applied to each wrist along with, it seemed, much of the surrounding area. For all I know this could have an expensive vintage from one of the Great French Perfume Houses, but at that proximity to the blast zone, and in a confined area, it was no less than a hostile assault on the nostrils, testing the gag reflex to the limit. Not the sort of reaction I suspect the lady in question was looking for.
Still, I suppose it masked the usual underlying smell of a decaying FCC carriage, at least for a day.
Wednesday, 3 February 2010
Wednesday 3rd February, 2010
Had an early visit to a physiotherapist this morning to sort out some back discomfort. Diagnosed with First Capital Connect shoulder. Compression of the vertebrae resulting from spending prolonged periods in unnatural positions, causing muscle spasms and frayed nerves.
After stretching me back into something approximating a normal posture he advised bi-weekly return visits, and to avoid First Capital Connect completely. I told him this was not practical as I had to get into work so he wrote me a doctor’s note to hand to the on duty station manager entitling me to demand that the next passing East Midlands express service be flagged down and that I (and only I) be admitted and escorted to an empty seat.
Arrive at the station, brandishing my precious letter. Just then an East Midlands express rushes through and the slipstream snatches it from my grasp. It flutters away, down the tracks.
Boarded the 8.16 semi-fast and slumped, disconsolately, into a seat. Long delay at Elstree. No explanation. Long delay at Mill Hill. No explanation. Long delay at West Hampstead. ‘Drives’ eventually tells us that the rear unit is the problem, the fitter is looking at it, but the fix following the winter freeze has not held and the elastic band holding the paper clip onto the overhead wire has snapped.
Drives goes on to tell us that they might be able to fix it. We all get off and head for the Northern Line.
After stretching me back into something approximating a normal posture he advised bi-weekly return visits, and to avoid First Capital Connect completely. I told him this was not practical as I had to get into work so he wrote me a doctor’s note to hand to the on duty station manager entitling me to demand that the next passing East Midlands express service be flagged down and that I (and only I) be admitted and escorted to an empty seat.
Arrive at the station, brandishing my precious letter. Just then an East Midlands express rushes through and the slipstream snatches it from my grasp. It flutters away, down the tracks.
Boarded the 8.16 semi-fast and slumped, disconsolately, into a seat. Long delay at Elstree. No explanation. Long delay at Mill Hill. No explanation. Long delay at West Hampstead. ‘Drives’ eventually tells us that the rear unit is the problem, the fitter is looking at it, but the fix following the winter freeze has not held and the elastic band holding the paper clip onto the overhead wire has snapped.
Drives goes on to tell us that they might be able to fix it. We all get off and head for the Northern Line.
Tuesday 2nd February, 2010
An uneventful day. Joined by a travelling Policemen this morning between St Albans and Elstree. Hope he wasn't on his way to an emergency.
Monday 1st February, 2010
Made the 8.16 semi fast this morning, together with a good mate who took pity and stopped to give me a lift to the station.
Uneventful journey until we reached St Pancras. No. Not that St Pancras. We’d pulled out of there with no issues but then ground to a halt in the old Thameslink station. Why have we stopped here? Driver error, we thought. Old habits die hard.
Turns out that a train had broken down ahead of us, and the driver, knowing we might be waiting a while, told us he thought we might prefer to be stopped in the old station rather than in a tunnel. Why? Frankly the darkness would have been preferable. It always was a godawful, festering pit, and it hasn’t been made any better by the layers of pigeon s**t that have accumulated, despite the strategically placed spikes. Perhaps it was a tactical move from FCC to remind us just how lucky we are to have the nice new station. What next? Is he going to open the doors and invite us to take a stroll along the platform for old times sake?
Fortunately not. As we sat there, waiting, it suddenly dawned on us. It has long been a mystery how the graffiti artists get down there to work their magic, but could our driver be the secret artist. He sees his chance, spotting a gap in the schedule, pulls up in the station and dives out with his spray cans? We were soon on our way again.
Why not give them a free reign down there? Much better to have some colourful, inventive decoration to look at than layers of detritus and grime.
Uneventful journey until we reached St Pancras. No. Not that St Pancras. We’d pulled out of there with no issues but then ground to a halt in the old Thameslink station. Why have we stopped here? Driver error, we thought. Old habits die hard.
Turns out that a train had broken down ahead of us, and the driver, knowing we might be waiting a while, told us he thought we might prefer to be stopped in the old station rather than in a tunnel. Why? Frankly the darkness would have been preferable. It always was a godawful, festering pit, and it hasn’t been made any better by the layers of pigeon s**t that have accumulated, despite the strategically placed spikes. Perhaps it was a tactical move from FCC to remind us just how lucky we are to have the nice new station. What next? Is he going to open the doors and invite us to take a stroll along the platform for old times sake?
Fortunately not. As we sat there, waiting, it suddenly dawned on us. It has long been a mystery how the graffiti artists get down there to work their magic, but could our driver be the secret artist. He sees his chance, spotting a gap in the schedule, pulls up in the station and dives out with his spray cans? We were soon on our way again.
Why not give them a free reign down there? Much better to have some colourful, inventive decoration to look at than layers of detritus and grime.
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