Trainspotting

I must admit, the train journeys to and from London weren't too traumatic. They were those Virgin tilting jobbies and I felt a bit sick when they picked up speed. Actually the journey back was fairly rubbish because we were facing backwards all the way - why couldn't they reverse into Euston so we'd be facing forwards for the TWO and a HALF HOUR journey???

Trains are still crap though; it's that thing of not being in control. All it needs is some tosser driver to run a red light and, instead of having a bit of a prang like you would in a car, you get a massive high-speed crash and loads of fatalities. All those people's lives in the hands of a suicidal train driver. And the good thing is that, if a driver is suspended for running a red light, the rail unions call a strike in their support! Hang on a minute, surely they should be supporting their colleagues who might've become victims of the errant driver's mistake/incompetence? But no, they come out with "It's because there's not enough training... whinge, whinge, whinge". I'm sorry, but how many times does somebody need to be told not to run a red light? It's not rocket science. No! It's not fucking rocket science, it's train driving.

I used the toilet, it was fun. The cubicles are probably large enough to have sex in. This is a lot different to how it used to be on the old SNCF sleepers that we took from France to Italy when I was a kid. Not that I ever thought about having sex in a train toilet back then, or having sex at all because I didn't even know what it was. The train toilets back in the 70s used to just drop all the bowl (bowel) contents onto the track and you could see the track whizzing by underneath as it flushed. And that's when I thought the vampire would climb up through the hole and get me.

What's the etiquette on the use of toilets on trains? How long should you leave it before using the lav after somebody has come out of there? And is it OK to return to your seat with your hand over your mouth, saying, "Some dirty fucking bastard left a right smell in there" when the person who went before you is sat in your carriage? And is it true that you're not supposed to use the toilet when the train is stationary?

There was a gang of trainspotters at Nuneaton. One was even videoing the train. It's a fucking traing. They all look the same, surely? It's like the golden age of steam when the engines had names, characters and histories. He looked like a bit of a sex offender and I didn't like to think what was on the rest of his videotape.

Did you know that there's a breed of people who spot electricity pylons too? You don't believe me do you? Well, you can check out both UK and international pylon enthusiast sites. Check out the UK site, it's really something else.

Back to the train... This is just one of those things that makes me want to kill people. We were sat opposite the bit where you leave your luggage in the carriage. There were two women sat in front of this bit and they'd deposited their luggage in the correct area on boarding the train. Then, inexplicably, with an hour left of the journey, one of them took her huge suitcase from the luggage-hold behind her and moved it approximately 1 foot so it was next to her seat, blocking the aisle. Why? I was fucking outraged. I wanted to pull the communication thing and tell the driver.

I wanted to talk to the driver about one or two things actually, but apparently there's a penalty for inappropriate use. I'm sure he'd have been interested in the little baa lambs in the fields and the two donkeys that I saw rolling around. I also wanted to ask him why the final leg between Stockport and Piccadilly was taking so long - bad run of signals apparently. That old nutmeg, eh?

Euston station is quite horrible and there were pigeons dive-bombing me while I was trying to eat my chips. On the other hand, Piccadilly Station in Manchester is very ritzy-titzy (they did it up for the Commonwealth Games). To put things in perspective though, neither are as good as being able to travel in your own car, with your own music (and singing) at your own pace.