Fun'n'Games >> Amusing Anecdotes >> You'd Think I'd Learn (part 2)
You'd Think I'd Learn (part 2)
A true story of hunger, fatigue, disillusionment, faulty train information screens, the near crossing of an international boundary, and free beer.By Senior Dipsomaniac Dave Priestley
(ok, so I lied about the free beer...)
The date was Wednesday, 4 September, 2002. Almost a year had passed since my morning of woe the previous November, an experience I planned never to repeat. The Dipsomania Society Pub Crawl would be taking place that upcoming Saturday, and I was once again nowhere near Wallasey.
I was, in fact, in 5 Belle Vue Crescent, Ashbrooke, Sunderland, Tyne and Wear SR2 7SH, which is, according to the AA's website, a distance of 178.4 miles from my destination - Peggy Gadfly's Public House, 93 Victoria Road, New Brighton, Wallasey, Merseyside CH45 2JB. And once again, I had to go by train. I provide a map for demonstrative purposes.
 As you can see here, it does not take a degree in navigation to work out that I did indeed have some distance to cover |
The time was 1030 BST. According to the train timetables, the journey should take me almost exactly five hours from house to pub. I always need a pint after a long journey. Hang on, I always need one after any journey!
I left the house, smiled as I saw the glorious sunshine and walked jauntily towards Sunderland train station. As I walked down the stairs to the platform, I was informed via tannoy that "the 1100 service to Gateshead MetroCentre is running approximately 10 minutes late". I was getting quite used to such setbacks, and awaited the arrival of the delayed train.
As I alighted the train at Newcastle, I was astonished to see that despite my late arrival I had not missed my connection to York. Maybe the journey would not be so bad, after all! I rushed over to Platform 2 and embarked the very modern-looking Virgin Voyager. No sooner had I sat down than I was overcome by a distinct feeling of all not being well. You know the feeling, it's that one you get when you are waiting outside the headmaster's office at school. Thinking logically, I deduced that every other time I had previously got the train to York from Newcastle I had done so from Platform 3. I also mentally remarked on the fact that the train appeared to be pointing the wrong way. I surreptitiously looked around me in search of reassurance, and then I saw it. The sign on the window.
LONDON KINGS CROSS to INVERNESSI don't know what the other passengers thought as I hurriedly picked up my bag and jumped back off the train again, but at that moment I didn't particularly care. At least two of them jumped off after me, so I must have done them a favour.
For anyone whose geography isn't too hot, Inverness is in Scotland, and not far off directly in the opposite direction than I wanted to go. Admittedly, even if I hadn't realised in time I would still have been able to escape at Berwick-upon-Tweed, but that's not really the point.
I went back to the information screen and realised to my disgust that the staff in charge of the monitors had mixed up the departures and arrivals boards. Trains do not depart to a place called "Terminates Here", nor do they arrive ten minutes after they leave. There was no doubt about it, I could have been humiliatingly misplaced through no fault of my own. I had got on the train FROM Kings Cross instead of TO Kings Cross. And while I am not a king, except maybe of bad puns, I was indeed very cross.
During this time, I had missed my actual connection, and then had to wait for half an hour. Grrrrrrrr. After getting on the next train to/from Edinburgh, I was happy to find that I was indeed pointing at York, where I once again had to change. I promised myself a pint in Cooper's, the train station's overly-priced but conveniently handy pub. The thought of the succulent nectar trickling down my throat brightened my mood considerably throughout the journey, only for my hopes to be dashed when I saw that I only had eight minutes until the Liverpool train was due. So I waited for the TransPennine Express service to amble along... and was then subjected to another announcement that it was running late. HellFire! Eternal Damnation! Arse!
By this time, there was a train to Leeds due in ten minutes, so I opted to hop on that rather than wait around. As if by magic, the train towards Blackpool turned up almost on time and got to Leeds without any undue ado, despite the best efforts of the obligatory smelly old man in the seat next to me, which gave me a clear 90 seconds in which to run the half mile to the other platform in time for the Liverpool train which had somehow gained on us throughout the trip. Needless to say, my legs aren't what they used to be, and I gave up and started walking breathily after a few energetic strides. By the time I got there, it had left four minutes ago.
I was going to have to get on the next train to Manchester, and trust the local service to get me to Liverpool from there. This journey was really NOT going according to plan.