A standard issue train journey, with a twist

So, as I so often do, I had the delight of a train journey to York on Monday. To make a change from my usual starting point of Egham, I ended up going from High Wycombe instead. (I briefly debated going from Marlow and then decided that the tedium would be too much for 8:00 on a Monday morning. There’s no need to make it awful AND boring, is there?) Despite our best efforts, the Handy Cross traffic ensured that we only arrived at the station 40 minutes before the train was due at the station. I was gutted, let me tell you. The stress, the trauma, will I make it? Will I be forced to get the next train, and still make it to the station on time anyway? THE DRAMA. THE TENSION.

I even went so far as to walk from Marylebone to Baker Street, something I’ve never actually done before. Handy hint: it’s about as long as the tube journey, just with a bit more walking and probably less falling over. Unless you have an inner ear problem, in which case you’ll be falling over however you go so you might as well walk and save £1.60. Yeah, I had to use my Oyster card, because my ticket was glitching in all the ticket barriers and I just wanted to make sure I actually got to King’s Cross sometime before Christmas. My suspicion is that there was some problem with the computers on the Underground, because it worked fine for the last ticket barrier at King’s Cross. Weirdly, they had them open for half an hour before they closed them again. ?? There is no sense to this madness.

The train journey started as they so often do, although I was delighted to discover that the seats that had been booked around me weren’t due to be used until York, so I didn’t have to sit next to anyone. Dead chuffed, I was. Well, until I suddenly gained a headache and nausea. Then I was just sort of… moderately pleased. (Turns out I was just thirsty. Who’d have guessed on such a warm summer’s day when I’d spent the morning on stuffy trains?) And of course, that was when something unexpected happened.

An American couple, who I discovered were there after they had been to a wedding in London and were now taking a ‘vacation’ to York, sat down in the seats opposite me. I guess they couldn’t get seats further down the train or something, but they broke the first rule of trains: they talked to me. I managed to scare them off by answering with short sentences and looking generally fatigued, so they went back to looking at the countryside (which looks like America), and comparing our windmills to theirs (ours are shorter, apparently). Still, at least they were happy. Not like the four people sitting across the aisle who never spoke to each other despite being in a big group.

So now, here I am. Yorkshire. It’s actually cold, sort of, except for when it’s being kind of warm. Suffice to say I have no idea how to combat this with clothes so I’m just going to keep both sunscreen and a raincoat handy and hope for the best.

There and back again: A Really Eventful Journey

(This post is being posted on Thursday, but the events detailed within really happened on Monday. Psyyyychadelic.

floooating parenthesis)

So, in order to be back at university for 7:30 in the evening, I got the train at 9:11 in the morning from Malton.

er.

Ok, in my defense, I forgot it takes 30 minutes to get to Malton from Kirkbymoorside. and I forgot how much of a terrible person I am to be around in the morning when I haven’t had much sleep the night before. Which I almost

right this is her flatmate veronica i (back to charli) would just like to say that veronica (flatmate) is absolutelyyyyy wonderfulosti yess you see what i did there ahahahaha you didnt because i did nothing anywayback to normal me

always do, because I’m absolutely terrible at going to bed early when I have to be up the next day. GOOD JOB MITCHELL.

Managed to get myself up on time at 6:30. (aaaaaargh) Managed to eat breakfast like a pro. Thumbs up Managed to make lunch like a pro. (um managed to get my mum to make my lunch…. Thumbs up?) Managed to check my train platform like a pr- wait… cancelled? Cancelled?

My train was cancelled, due to the unfortunate circumstance of a person being ‘struck by a train’. Like they’re trying to make light of the situation or something. I felt sort of guilty that the only reason it affected me at all was because I wanted to catch a train and this meant all the trains going into York on the Newcastle line had been cancelled. But, not to worry, I could always get the later train.

When I got to the station itself, (finally; the train takes 30 minutes to get from Malton to York! It’s one effing stop! blargh) I found the platform easily enough. And then I saw, to my delight, the next train leaving from this platform would not stop until Kings Cross. Brilliant. If it hadn’t been scheduled for 6:55 I might have booked it for myself. I’m not that much of a masochist.

I got myself on the train, stowed my luggage, and settled into a seat with some reading. At which point I discovered that my train had been uncancelled and was leaving on time.

shiiiiiiiiit shitshitshit

What if the ticket-inspector saw me and realised I shouldn’t be there? what if I had to pay him to upgrade my ticket or something? What if he threw me off the train

(in hindsight, my panic was completely unnecessary. He just glanced at my ticket and moved on. He didn’t care in the slightest. phew)

I was a little less incompetent at the tubes this time, I managed to get straight on the train to Egham (literally. I was on it for 20 minutes before it left), and then I even managed to hop on the bus to RHUL. £1, not too shabby.

and then that very same afternoon I was booking tickets to go back to Yorkshire. I guess I’m just a glutton for train journeys.