Monday 10th April 2006

I was waiting for my train to be announced at Euston with a concourse full of fellow travellers listening out for the same news. What happens is the platform gets announced and then the herd move as one, from all areas of the station, towards the one ramp. Sometimes the Liverpool trains go from platforms twelve or fourteen, and some people had naturally hedged their bets and were standing in that vicinity, but other times it can be platform six, or one, and others had chosen that side. It was the 18:17 service we were waiting for, the first train since three this afternoon that the likes of us, with cheaper tickets, were allowed on, so it was bound to be busy.

I chose to go and buy a paper and once I’d bought it, the announcement regards the platform was made. I was standing right in front of it. I saw the anger in the mob’s eyes as they began to move and realised “Look at him! He only went to get a paper and he’s guessed the platform in the process and is now ahead of us all. Get him!�

I started walking down the ramp towards the empty, awaiting train and felt the surge of people build up behind me. Then a few people ran past me. Then more. They were starting to stampede, never a good sign, and I was unsure if I should run with the pack or be trampled. More and more wilder beast-like commuters charged past me, and it was interesting to see how some just ran with abandon, whilst others tried to do a really quick walk, just breaking into a run now and again before realising they were running and moderating it to a furious walk again.

I am too dignified and cool, like the Fonz, to run for a train that’s not leaving for another few minutes, but by the same measure I didn’t want to be without a seat for the whole journey and so adopted a purposeful stride toward the furthest coach, thinking that people would automatically jump into the coaches en route, seeing them empty, and therefore leave the more distant ones alone. It worked quite well, and I got to my carriage with time to pack my bags away, choose a seat at a table, get out my computer and relax before others started to join me. Even when the train left it wasn’t too full. So why the rush? Do people enjoy it and treat it as a bit of excitement?

It’s the sort of excitement I could do without, especially on a day to day basis. There are hundreds of people that have to stand on the concourse at Euston five days a week waiting for the 18.17’s platform to be announced. Perhaps they try and work out if there’s a pattern to this, and therefore if they can stand at the entrance to the correct platform on any given day. Perhaps others know that only a fool would attempt that because the platform is liable to alteration and randomness, so it’s always best to stand in the centre of the concourse and then walk / run with the pack.

I bet they hate the occasional user of the 18.17, like myself. I’m infiltrating their turf with my platform-guessing and non-running ways.

If I can gauge success in my life I suppose it might simply be never having to be in a situation where I have to run for the same train every day. The idea really doesn’t appeal. I remember once catching a commuter train from London to the Kent countryside, one of the old slam-door 1960’s trains that were still in operation up until recently. They had a guard’s van incorporated into them, which were wooden and used mainly for storing bikes, until it was rush hour when they housed a collection of familiar commuters who caught this train every day, and probably had done for years. The refreshment trolley would be stationed in this open area of the train, and seeing as it couldn’t move down the train because of all the people standing, it acted as a kind of bar for these commuters, who had therefore created their own local pub.

You could tell they were all regulars in this ‘pub’, and a great deal of the typical pub dynamics were there. All had their regular drinks which the trolley operator had learnt to know off by heart. They all had their own roles; one the bon viveur, one the quiet chap in the corner, one the spiv, one the gentleman. And there was a lady there who seemed to enjoy flirting with them all. It was as much part of her routine as it was theirs. I remember feeling a little excluded from their group, like you might feel if you went into a local pub for the first time. It was quite a nice little institution in it’s own way, but a sad one at the same time. These people being forced to socialise in the cramped guard’s van of their regular train before going home to a microwave meal and some bills. Still, I suppose it could have been worse, they could have been the bloke with the trolley. He wasn’t even allowed to drink.

And then the trains were modernised, guard vans made redundant, and I imagine their group disbanded. Which they probably regarded as an absolute tragedy. God willing I’ll never have to suffer a similar commuter nightmare.

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