A Day Out to Chichester

The day finally arrived when I was due to go down to Chichester to video and interview to promote my new book “Computing for the Older & Wiser”

 

It was a beautiful Autumn morning when I left home at 8.45 to drive to Colchester station – a light mist was still clinging to some of the sheltered meadows. I had already bought my ticket so there was no rush and I had to wait for about 20 minutes on the platform because the train was running slightly late. The journey to Liverpool Street was uneventful and I got quite a bit of work done in learning my lines for the interview.

 

The trouble started on the Underground Circle Line where there had been a security alert at Temple stopping all services on the Circle and District lines. Station staff suggested that service would be up and running within 20 minutes so it seemed better to wait rather than fight the London traffic in an expensive taxi.

 

The first Circle line train eventually arrived after 50 minutes – followed, like buses, by three more within 4 minutes. I declined the first train which resembled a can of sardines and joined the second train which had seats to spare. On arriving at Victoria I found that I had time for a quick cigarette in the street outside before catching the direct line to Chichester. This particular rain stopped at so many stations that it required three screens on the departure information to include all the possible destinations. But I had a seat and I could use the time for more rehearsal in my mind. The train rattled its way through old familiar stations like Crawley, Three Bridges, Horley, Horsham, Ford and Barham before trundling in to Chichester.

 

I was proud of the precautions I had taken to prevent any problems arising through he day when my hearing aid battery failed at Gatwick airport. Well done! I had remembered to pack a couple of spares in my briefcase.

 

Searching for a taxi rank to complete my journey to the publishers at The Atrium, Southern Gate I was really chuffed to see that the building in question lay some 30 yards beyond the line of cabs.

 

I had rung ahead to inform them of the delay in  my journey so a selection of cling wrapped sandwiches and a cup of coffee were awaiting my arrival. The John Wiley team were all very friendly and excited by the prospect of the book. (There will be more on the actual meeting in the next instalment.)

 

The meeting and video took about 2½ hours so I was ready to make the homeward journey by 4.30. A few small cumulus clouds hung in the blue sky over contented cattle grazing the water meadows alongside the river Arun. Venerable oak trees provided shelter for ruminating sheep – the tail end of a lovely day but it was all about to go downhill. 

It started at Barham where we were joined by a large number of passengers permanently connected to their mobile phones. The girl in the seat behind me was chatting loudly to a girlfriend for the hour long journey to South Croydon. If said said that she had taken the day off once she must have said it fifty times. We all heard about the problems she was having with her boss, her hairdresser, her family – especially her mother “who never does understand” – her lack of a current partner and the fact that she could never buy a pair of shoes that fitted her. Those of us remaining on the train at South Croydon gave a collective sigh of relief as she got off the train – only to be replaced in the same seat by a corn-rowed rapper who was endlessly explaining to his ‘crew’ dat he was comin’ in to Victoria and would meet dem at de usual place before goin’ on to de gig.

 

The Victoria thoroughfares were more like the arrivals hall at Gatwick airport with non- English speaking tourists toting huge suitcases who seemed unable to workout the automatic check out gates. T o give then their due only two of the available seven gates were actually working at the time. In what felt like a stampede of wildebeest during the great Masai Mara migration I felt sorry for two startled pensioners looking like baby giraffes caught up in a lion attack.

 

Once more to the Underground, my friend, once more. The first ten trains were destined for Upminster of all places and there was no sign of a Circle line train. What is the population of Upminster anyway? The chap beside me asked if this was the right platform for the Circle Line and received a vaguely confident reply from me that it was. He went off in search of a member of the Underground staff – he must have had the confidence of a Livingstone hoping to find the Victoria Falls. In spite of this he was back after 20 minutes with the news that there had been an electrical fault at South Ken but the line was running smoothly again. The line may have been smooth – well it was for the endless succession of Upminster trains – but it took another 15 minutes before the first Circle line train made its applauded appearance. I swear that during the journey from Victoria to Liverpool Street I never once heard the English language spoken. There was a French conversation going on around me and further up the carriage were the indecipherable sounds of Eastern European tongues. People were reading newspapers in Greek, Italian and what looked like Russian. I felt like singing “Where have all the English gone? Slow time passing.”

 

Most of this international community joined me in getting off at the main line station to the East. Checking the noticeboard I reckoned I just about had time to grab a coffee from a bunch of Slavs serving caffeine at one of the station outlets. Unfortunately none of the Slav servers or their Eastern European customers seemed to grasp the concept of British currency and I had to abandon the queue to catch the Norwich express whose first stop was Colchester. I felt as though I had to race past seventeen first class carriages before reaching one that agreed to transport us ordinary mortals on the long journey.

 

I believe there is a chain of drinking houses spread throughout the capital called TGIF – standing for Thank God it’s Friday. This train should have been christened OGIF – Oh God It’s Friday! Every seat was taken! Standing room only throughout the cattle class carriages.

Inevitably there were several people who need the ‘bathroom’ during the journey which meant a series of exercises that experienced mountaineers would have relished in preparation for their ascent of the Matterhorn. To give them their due most of the passing traffic offered mumbled words of appreciation or apology – except for one man who made the journey three times without a single word of thanks. He was in his mid thirties so it was unlikely to be prostate trouble so what was his problem? 

I am definitely a country boy and only use the capital’s transport services on an irregular basis so I consider myself fortunate compared to my fellow passengers to have to endure this week in, week out. They have all adapted in different ways to cope with the vicissitudes of modern travel even if it means reading a book on the hereditary DNA of leaf-cutter beetles. I kid you not. That is what the seated passenger was reading below me and the ticket lying on the table in front of him showed that he had the rest of the journey to Norwich to complete his research.

 

About three quarters of the seats had those little booking slips perched on the top of the back rest. Does anyone understand what these billet doux mean? People seem to grab a seat whether it has a reserved ticket or not.

 

But enough of this complaining, I was on my way home and Colchester was the next stop. Oh no, it wasn’t! The loudspeaker system soon burst into life offering us the sad information that a gentleman in Carriage G needed medical attention and therefore we would be making an unscheduled stop at Witham where the paramedics were waiting to bring him back to life.

 

Thirty minutes later we were back on track again and the train exhaled a large part of its load onto platform 2 into the Colchester night. The down, under and up again walk to the exit reminded me that I had two replacement knees and a recently operated on Achilles tendon but the car was only half a mile away and I was nearly home. Once in the car I tried to ring Jen on my mobile only to be informed that my pay-as-you-go tariff had run out and therefore my attempts to ring home were being denied.

 

I pulled into the driveway at 8.45pm exactly 12 hours after leaving for my day out to Chichester. It had been an enlightening day but I am glad we live in the rural backwaters of East Anglia with birdsong for loudspeakers.