Saturday 21st October 2006

I was standing on a busy train from Manchester to Preston today, when I fell into conversation with a woman travelling to Blackpool, the train’s final destination. I was travelling with my friend Michelle and our conversation with the lady started by us mutually grumbling about how busy the train was, with passengers at the stations we stopped at not being allowed on (much to their annoyance) and how this over crowding could be put down to the fact that trains in the North are always two or three carriages long, some only being a single car. Trains in the South are always much longer.

“The trouble is� said the woman “a lot of people get off at Preston, like you are, but a lot more get on.�

This meant that she was probably going to be standing all the way to Blackpool.

“You see, a lot of hen nights and lads on a weekend away get on, to go to Blackpool. And so when people get off at Preston, a lot more get on.�

She’d made this point twice now, that people get off and others get on, but she then made it a third time a few minutes later, and then a fourth. It seemed to be a simple principal, but she didn’t seem to think we got the concept of people leaving a train, but others boarding, so that the total number of people remained generally the same.

When she explained this again, Michelle, who was sat on a suitcase, was looking through her fingers in frustration. I am made of sterner, and far more sarcastic and patronising stuff, and so I questioned her.

“But people get off at Preston, so it must be less busy?�

“But people get on.�

“But people have got off so there’s more room.�

“Yes, but people get on, so it’s still busy.�

I pretended not to fully understand the concept and so she explained it again. Don’t worry, I was not being nasty, I was really just allowing her to explain this mathematical mystery one more time, something that she delighted in doing.

Eventually we got to Preston, where we got off, but not too many people got on, making a mockery of her grand idea that an equal amount of people got on at Preston than they did get off, meaning the number of people on the train would be the same. At least she got somewhere to sit I hope.

Michelle and I were travelling on to Glasgow, but when the train arrived it was a Voyager and not a Pendilino (I know the names of trains – yes) and they only have one first class carriage, which was full. You can cheaply upgrade to First at weekends and neither of us fancied sitting in the zoo that is Standard on a Saturday. So we didn’t board the train, but chose to wait an hour and a half for the next one. This is train snobbery. Indeed, it’s snobbery plain and simple considering we were only rejecting the first train because it couldn’t offer us the highest standards of accommodation.

We went to the station café/pub for a bite to eat and killed time before getting on the Glasgow service and rejoicing in our reclining seats and legroom. And as a special treat, because I’d bought a single ticket, I didn’t even have to pay to upgrade to First much to Michelle’s chagrin, who did. I am sometimes, indeed frequently, like an infuriating little ten year old who’s been told he’s been good and so he can have a bar of chocolate and says “Ner Ner Ner!� in his crying sister’s face.

We were on our way to Vaila and Ewan’s wedding tomorrow. It feels quite grown up to be travelling a long distance to a wedding. It’s the sort of thing you do with your weekends when you are mature. Therefore it felt unique, too.

Good to be in Glasgow again – maybe my favourite city in the UK. We checked into a hotel called Abode on Bath Street and soon enough met Vaila, Ewan, A, and lots of old faces I’ve not seen in years, plus plenty of new ones, in a bar for some dinner. The bride and groom made a sensibly early exit, as did A, for a good night’s sleep but Michelle and I made friends with a lovely couple also up for the occasion and we trawled the bars, ending up with cocktails at the hotel and me lying on my bed alone watching Postman Pat into the early hours. I’m looking forward to tomorrow. I’m slightly concerned about the Caleigh, traditional Scottish dancing which is pretty much compulsory to participate in, but I’m sure it won’t be too humiliating.

Once again back in Scotland, and once again very happy with that fact. I wonder if I’ll ever live here?

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