A bad day for travelling

Getting down to London and being established in the office for a 10 o'clock meeting is in some ways harder than for 9 o'clock. There are more choices. If I need to be there first thing, there's only one choice - the 5.20 - and although it's an excruciatingly early start, at least the train is guaranteed to be almost empty at Piccadilly. It fills up around Rugby because by then it's not stupid o'clock and it's the commuters train of choice, but at our end you have your pick of seats.

To arrive later, there's almost too much choice, but I've learned that the 6.05 is very heavily booked and it's hard to get a seat at a table. There are two reasons for this. First, the time is (a little) more sensible. Second, and probably more important, it's fast to Euston - stopping only at Stockport - so it gets in shortly after 8. Ironically only a few minutes later than the 5.20, because that makes several stops and goes via Crewe which is a longer route. However in the past I've discovered that the 6.15 is almost as empty as the 5.20. Leaving only ten minutes later than the 6.05 it's not a good bet for those in a hurry. It's a stopping train and gets in almost an hour later. But for those of use wanting only a relatively early start, it's ideal. Or so I thought.

This morning's journey started on the wrong foot when the taxi I'd ordered for 5.40 arrived at 5.30 and rang the bell. I was still in the middle of a post for TV Scoop and was annoyed that the bell had woken Nikki. The taxi driver confirmed that the controller had given him 5.40 as the time booked but said I needed to specify "don't knock" on the call if I wanted him to wait outside.

Arriving at Piccadilly I noticed the early train times had been pushed back two minutes. The 6.05 was now the 6.07 and was on the board. The 6.17 was waiting on Platform 6. I bought a magazine, sussed out the table seat I wanted and stood on the freezing cold platform waiting for the doors to be opened, feeling very glad I'd decided to leave a T-shirt on under my shirt. A few minutes later I was settled in to my seat, laptop deployed and waiting to set off. The train manager started his usual announcement: "This train calls at Stockport, Wilmslow, Crewe, Birmingham, Birmingham New Street, Coventry and arrives at Euston at 9.42."

9.42?? That's (works it out on fingers) 3 hours and 25 minutes! Trains from Piccadilly normally take about 2 hours 15. The train manager continued: "passengers with first class or standard open tickets may want to travel on the 6.35 which gets into Euston almost a full HOUR earlier."

I was off that train like a shot. Had to be: it was only two minutes away from leaving! Having warmed up nicely I spent another cold ten minutes on platform 8 waiting for the doors to open again. I spotted a table seat with no reserved ticket on it and bided my time. Being late onto the platform I wasn't in pole position for the door, and a woman with a suitcase was already waiting by the closest door. I didn't want to get stuck behind her so I walked further up and stood by the door at the other end of the carriage. Strictly, according to unspoken platform etiquette, I was "behind" the guy waiting there but when the doors pinged to indicate they'd been unlocked, he hesitated for a split-second too long giving me the social permission to activate the button and hence get in before him.

As I swung into my chosen seat I glanced up at the electronic seat reservation displays. Damn! The seat was taken! Not just that seat, but every seat at that table. I grabbed my bag and started back up the coach. The next table was taken and the next. And it wasn't only the tables. Every seat was taken; even the ones without paper "reserved" tickets. I should explain that Virgin trains don't have an awful lot of success with their automated booking service, so the displays are often wrong, or not working at all. When this happens they use the fall-back manual system of sticking bits of paper in the back of the seats, but these can be a trap for the unwary traveller. The presence of tickets in the seat backs does not necessarily indicate a malfunction of the displays. However, on walking through to Coach E and discovering that the displays in there also showed every single seat reserved I began to suspect the signs were indeed wrong. Other passengers were beginning to mill about in the aisle in confusion, so I quickly made my way back to Coach D, dumped my bag back on my original seat, and went to find the train manager. He confirmed the sign information was "still downloading" and we should take notice only of the paper reservations in the seatbacks. My seat didn't have one (the reason I'd picked it out while still on the platform) so once again I settled in for the journey, albeit a little wary of anyone walking past in case their name happened to be S Clark or A Chilton.

The seat information never did download properly, neither Clark nor Chilton ever turned up and eventually the train manager began to tell boarding passengers to ignore the displays. At Crewe a besuited gentleman boarded and asked if he could sit down. I moved the bag containing the remains of my breakfast onto the table and wedged myself against the window. Sitting four to a table is always uncomfortable. The seats are just too narrow to easily accommodate two and sitting opposite someone inevitably means legs can't be stretched and discomfort results. The suit squirmed around in his seat for a few seconds, tugged at his jacket as if I was sitting on it (I wasn't), waved his arms around to test the space available to him and then declared sotto voce "not really enough room here, is there?" and stood up again. I really don't think I'm that wide, but he found alternative accommodation at the next table down on the other side of the carriage, next to a lady who must have been somewhat narrower than me, since he settled there without further trouble.

The views from the window were pretty this morning though - everything painted white with frost. Even the train yards and scabby factories lining the track look more attractive when they're rimed with cold.

I had to look for some silver - or in this case white - lining to the journey. Train problems at Crewe held us up for 15 minutes and signalling problems outside Watford delayed us even further, so in the end we arrived at Euston at 9.54: twelve minutes later than I would have arrived if I'd stayed on the 6.17. >sigh<

Naturally I'd texted my manager to let him know I was going to be late for the 10am meeting. "It's OK," he replied, "it's probably going to be at 3pm now." I love my job.