I’m not a patient person. I have a lot to do and I do it fuelled on a continuous caffeine buzz, with the
energy or Manny from Over the Hedge. As you can imagine, I therefore don’t “thrive” on a train
journey with delays and cancelled trains.
If I thought the destination was going to be the worst part of a weekend in Stockport, I was in for
painfully drawn-out surprise, as I attempted to travel by train on Friday. If I had a pound for every
hour I was late, I would have 6. Which isn’t a lot. But it’s enough to by the costa coffee I didn’t get
because I had to join the end of the longest que known to Edinburgh to board a train after 4 hours of
delays, and still a good £5 more than is pleasantly tolerated for someone with my levels of patience.
No wifi for uni work, no water because we were unprepared. I could feel the hours fall off my
lifespan with every rattle of the train. Hell on middle class British earth may just be half an hour
delays at Newcastle. In the rain. With no Costa in sight.