One thing I hate about trains is that sometimes they let nutters on. And usually they let them book tickets to sit next to us.
Last year on the way to Glasgow in May the train operating company managed to only sell 3 first class tickets to Glasgow on the day we were travelling. Two to Ruth and me, and one to a really loud polo crunching woman who they thoughtfully seated right next to us. Oh, and the really loud humming she did along to her Ipod, it was nearly enough for me to stick a plastic fork up her nose.
When we were travelling back from Gretna at the end of the same trip, we managed to get sat next to a table full of daft arse lads on a stag do, boasting about their sexual exploits and knocking back about 20 beers each during the course of the one hour journey from Carlisle to Newcastle. That's not the kind of thing you can sleep next to if you try. Even earphones don't drown them out.
So I thought I'd seen it all, until we got on the train from Oban to Glasgow on Saturday. I know they recently made a series about Del Boy and Rodney, the pre Only Fools and Horses years. Well, I think I managed to get the train with a young Rab C Nesbitt and his wife on Saturday.
Ruth and I were sat in a double seat with about 4 panniers and we had plenty of room, but this guy and his wife decided they needed four chairs and a table each. That was stunning enough, but they decided to choose two tables about half a train apart, and then shout down the train at each other in virtually unintelligible Glaswegian.
When the train stopped at Crianlarich this Einstein got off the train and ordered some bacon sandwiches, but they came with all the wrong fillings in (no tomatoes or onions), which didn't come as a huge surprise to me, as I needed a translator to understand what he was going on about, so no doubt the caterers had the same problems.
He seemed to be either so stupid or out of his skull on drugs that if he'd stuck his head out of the train window, and it had been hit by another passing train, I'm not sure he would have felt it.
And then he managed to spill coffee everywhere, and he emptied the whole train toilet of toilet paper to wipe it up, and even then it took him about an hour. He was a walking disaster.
The really worrying thing was that at one point he seemed to be communicating on a mobile phone to a very young child and giving operating instructions over said device on how to use a toaster. My God, I thought, if he's giving out safety information, someone's really in trouble.
But he saved the best till last. As Ruth and I had 7 bike bags, 2 bikes and a tent between us, we thought it might be sensible to let the other passengers off the train before we tried to get all our stuff off, but the train coming to a standstill seemed to remove even the small amount of inertia he had, and after barging into me, he just stood in the aisle, like he was auditioning for Madame Tussauds. Ruth stood behind him for ages, waiting patiently for her presence to register, but in the end I just pushed past him. Otherwise, we could still be there now.
One of the really nice things about travelling is the nice people you meet, who give you tips and advice on cool places to go, and things to do, but then on the other hand, you sometimes strike it unlucky and have to share your personal space with people who make you want to jump straight out the train window. That's probably why the windows don't open, and you have to hit them with a safety hammer to get out.
It's all a far cry from the British Rail adverts of old in which people's feet are melting into big comfortable slippers as they are whisked in a state of nirvana past the wonderful British countryside.
I don't suppose they would sell as many tickets, if they showed a picture of a tired cyclist and his bike being crushed against the windows of the bike compartment by a load of drunken lads and lasses on their way to get hammered in York on a Saturday lunchtime.
Ah well, better luck next time!
Last year on the way to Glasgow in May the train operating company managed to only sell 3 first class tickets to Glasgow on the day we were travelling. Two to Ruth and me, and one to a really loud polo crunching woman who they thoughtfully seated right next to us. Oh, and the really loud humming she did along to her Ipod, it was nearly enough for me to stick a plastic fork up her nose.
When we were travelling back from Gretna at the end of the same trip, we managed to get sat next to a table full of daft arse lads on a stag do, boasting about their sexual exploits and knocking back about 20 beers each during the course of the one hour journey from Carlisle to Newcastle. That's not the kind of thing you can sleep next to if you try. Even earphones don't drown them out.
So I thought I'd seen it all, until we got on the train from Oban to Glasgow on Saturday. I know they recently made a series about Del Boy and Rodney, the pre Only Fools and Horses years. Well, I think I managed to get the train with a young Rab C Nesbitt and his wife on Saturday.
Ruth and I were sat in a double seat with about 4 panniers and we had plenty of room, but this guy and his wife decided they needed four chairs and a table each. That was stunning enough, but they decided to choose two tables about half a train apart, and then shout down the train at each other in virtually unintelligible Glaswegian.
When the train stopped at Crianlarich this Einstein got off the train and ordered some bacon sandwiches, but they came with all the wrong fillings in (no tomatoes or onions), which didn't come as a huge surprise to me, as I needed a translator to understand what he was going on about, so no doubt the caterers had the same problems.
He seemed to be either so stupid or out of his skull on drugs that if he'd stuck his head out of the train window, and it had been hit by another passing train, I'm not sure he would have felt it.
And then he managed to spill coffee everywhere, and he emptied the whole train toilet of toilet paper to wipe it up, and even then it took him about an hour. He was a walking disaster.
The really worrying thing was that at one point he seemed to be communicating on a mobile phone to a very young child and giving operating instructions over said device on how to use a toaster. My God, I thought, if he's giving out safety information, someone's really in trouble.
But he saved the best till last. As Ruth and I had 7 bike bags, 2 bikes and a tent between us, we thought it might be sensible to let the other passengers off the train before we tried to get all our stuff off, but the train coming to a standstill seemed to remove even the small amount of inertia he had, and after barging into me, he just stood in the aisle, like he was auditioning for Madame Tussauds. Ruth stood behind him for ages, waiting patiently for her presence to register, but in the end I just pushed past him. Otherwise, we could still be there now.
One of the really nice things about travelling is the nice people you meet, who give you tips and advice on cool places to go, and things to do, but then on the other hand, you sometimes strike it unlucky and have to share your personal space with people who make you want to jump straight out the train window. That's probably why the windows don't open, and you have to hit them with a safety hammer to get out.
It's all a far cry from the British Rail adverts of old in which people's feet are melting into big comfortable slippers as they are whisked in a state of nirvana past the wonderful British countryside.
I don't suppose they would sell as many tickets, if they showed a picture of a tired cyclist and his bike being crushed against the windows of the bike compartment by a load of drunken lads and lasses on their way to get hammered in York on a Saturday lunchtime.
Ah well, better luck next time!
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