Losing the train

A true story

“We’ve lost the train,” intones the bored sounding man on the Southwest Trains helpline. As though losing several tons of metal which only trundle up and down one line of track is like mislaying some car keys. Shivering on the platform, waiting for said locomotive, I don’t believe him, so I call again. This time, a woman answers, sounding middle-aged, brisk, like somebody’s mother.

“We’ve lost the train,” she says with absolute sincerity, “The 20.30, 21.00, and 21.30 are all cancelled and the 22.00 has vanished. No, we can’t stop any of the fast trains at your little provincial station as they’re all operated by a different train company. It would be more than our jobs are worth…”

I try to take my mind off my desperate situation by composing a rhyme. But my neural pathways are as frozen as everything else on that glacial, wind-swept platform.

Trains dissolve in freezing air
Dying in the epic frost
Information lines declare
“No idea, the thing’s been lost”

My evening commute took three bitter, agonising, frostbite-inducing hours. At no point was there any hint of an apology. For this I pay £87.50 a week.

Rant over.