A Week in Stations

I have not had the opportunity to reflect, research or, well, do much at all this week on TCP (if that's how I should abbreviate it -- perhaps TTP or TP would be better, I don't know). I had planned to do at least one article per week on each of the stations in the GMPTE area, something that I hope to accomplish next week. I have simply been too busy since Monday; in a classic case of "famous last words", I mentioned last week to Jason (the same chap to whom I mentioned TCP when it was an embryonic idea) that I would not have to travel anywhere for work the following week.

Well, Jason, if you're reading this, I ended up going to Leicester on Tuesday and Harrow yesterday! And I don't think I've ever stopped at so many stations over the course of two return journeys. These journeys also afforded me the opportunity to see some of the stations that I shall be covering for the project.

Tuesday's trip to Leicester started, as always, with the usual twelve-and-a-quarter-mile trundle from Dinting to Manchester Piccadilly. From Piccadilly, I changed at Nuneaton and then arrived at Leicester Station -- an easy enough journey. My meeting finished earlier than expected and I was looking forward to getting the train to Nuneaton an hour earlier than I had planned, with the result that this "saved hour" would carry on through to Manchester.

This didn't happen. I got to Nuneaton but then had to get a train that change at Stafford station, which at least gave me the opportunity to laugh almost uncontrollably when I heard the PA system crackle "Smelly Butts" out as the name of a stop on the journey to Birmingham New Street (a mishearing, unfortunately -- the announcer must have been saying Smethwick Galton Bridge or Smethwick Rolfe Street).

From Stafford, I changed at Crewe (I shouldn't have had to, looking at the National Rail website for weekday trains between Leicester and Manchester -- I could have got one straight to Piccadilly but I'm a complete and utter idiot) and then took the Northern Rail service to Piccadilly that goes via Manchester Airport. This frustrating crawl at least gave me the chance to see Heald Green, Gatley, East Didsbury, Burnage and Mauldeth Road stations, which I'll visit in due course to take photos and write about!

Changing a few times was quite enjoyable, really. I got to try out a few different trains and stop at some stations en route that I might not otherwise experience -- Atherstone, for example, which must have the most rusty footbridge I've ever seen. I'm glad I don't have to walk over that thing every morning and evening.

Yesterday was a tough day in terms of work done and the amount of time spent awake (if not always fully functioning) but the outward journey was free of hassle. I would highly recommend the Manchester Piccadilly to London Euston service operated by Virgin, which departs Piccadilly at 06:10. There is hardly anyone on the train at that time and you can get a coffee and breakfast if you want. I had the added joy of sharing the journey with a work colleague -- we talked at some length and even managed to crack a few jokes (not an easy task when semi-conscious at crack o' sparrows, even for a couple of inveterate punsters) -- and, given the sparsely-popluated state of the carriage, I managed to get the laptop and some papers out and be quite productive for about an hour.

Whilst my colleague went off to Barnet, I caught the London Overground service to Harrow and Wealdstone and spent this uncharacteristically warm Autumn day at work in Harrow. Later on, I caught the fast London Midland service back to Euston -- although standing, it was quite pleasant. It was when I got to Euston that the trouble started.

Being in possession of an off-peak ticket, I had to wait to catch the 1900 back to Piccadilly. At 6:45, I went to board the train, only to be ushered to the other side of the railings on the slope because I didn't have a seat reservation. Fair enough.

Looking around, I saw the size of the queues both for those with and without reservations! Oh dear.

It's not the fact that we had to stand and wait that's the problem. What I found unbelievable was the attitude of the staff. There were loads of people who were effectively trapped in a pen -- this is after the train, filled with passengers who had reservations and a lucky few without who were let through, had departed, by the way -- and there was no attempt by the staff to tell people when the next train was due to arrive, why they were waiting and what alternative trains they might like to take. Instead, people (myself included) had to say quite loudly, "Excuse me, what's going on?!" We were told we would be let on "the next train" but we didn't know when "the next train" was! A pregnant woman behind me was feeling claustrophobic and had to get out of this terrible situation; fortunately, people behind her moved back and left a pathway open for her to escape. The staff member she asked for assistance was about as much use as "The X Factor" is to people who appreciate music, so it was up to people's goodwill and decency (and a young woman who blared: "Excuse me, this woman's pregnant! Let her out! She wants to get through!") to "smooth her passage", so to speak. Perhaps a spin doctor would seize upon this occurrence as an example of the "Big Society" -- that awful, ill-thought-out, downright patronising, Tory slogan -- at work.

Fortunately, the next train to Manchester was the 1920, so we were released and allowed to board that one, the mad rush tempered by the need for everyone to show their tickets to yet more officious staff (who probably have an ironic title such as "customer service champion", or something equally meaningless, engraved on a badge and pinned on their comically hideous uniforms).

The best thing about this trying journey home was that First Class was de-restricted. I shoved my two file-laden bags and laptop case on the overhead racks, reclined in my comfortable seat that had ample legroom and decent back support, had a drink and read my free copy of the London Evening Standard. For any future non-work-related trips that I am planning in advance, I'll definitely fork out for First Class -- it's worth every penny and probably costs less than a Standard Class ticket bought on the day.

As I sit here in my study, listening to Stochelo Rosenberg and drinking a bottle of Newcastle Brown, almost fully functioning again after a decent night's sleep, I can laugh about it (even though my shoulders are thoroughly knotted). But there's still a bit of frustration that comes through when I think of the amount of money Virgin Trains will have taken in return for providing a rather sub-standard service.