Arriva! Arriva! Don't Delay! Don't Delay

by Sonia Davies

I haven't been on a train since last September (and that doesn't really count as it was at 6pm on a Sunday evening, to see a band in Wind St, and the return journey passed in a bit of a haze, anyway).

The last significant train journey before that was when I took my daughter to London for a dance college audition - again on a Sunday.

Last week I experienced our local train services, warts and all, as I had to attend a 3-day training course in Cardiff, and commuted each day.

Visiting the ticket office the Friday before the journeys, I was met with intense disapproval by the sour-faced jobs worth behind the glass panel. Her mouth was pursed up as tightly as her permed hair, as she advised me there was absolutely no point in buying my tickets in advance, it wouldn't be any cheaper.

But, I protested, it would save time on the day.

"Buy them on the train," she snapped, scowling. I then suggested it was easier for me personally, as I disliked fumbling around with my purse whilst in transit, and would probably lose something.

Ms Sourface sniffed, and reluctantly issued the tickets.

"Going on a course, then, are you?"she smirked, knowingly.

"Yes," I admitted.

"What course?" she asked beadily (nosey cow, I thought)

"Human lactation," I replied. At which she looked non-plussed.

"Breastfeeding," I replied. That shut her up.

Luckily for me the day dawned bright and sunny, alleviating the depressing dinginess of the waiting room.

Stage left - enter Mr Somewhere-on-the Spectrum. He was a dead ringer for Robert de Niro. He paced up and down, consulting all the timetables, and spoke sharply to Ms Sourface (he wasn't taking any rubbish from her), then he consulted the timetables again. Inside I was praying earnestly "Please don't sit next to me, not here or on the train" I would have driven him demented with my fidgeting and scribbling. Thankfully, he decided to go and pace up and down on the platform instead. At least it kept him warm.

Whilst you sit in this limbo, you cannot help but be charmed by the wonderful posters which adorn the walls. They are so entertaining, particularly the one which has as its title "Back by Popular Demand!! Club 55 - £15 return!" (It was a special offer for the over-55s, and showed 2 portly couples paddling in the sea, having the time of their lives! Maybe paddling wasn't all they were getting up to on those trips!)

Several bored-looking civil servants strolled in. They were obviously the Chosen Ones, the in-crowd, as they were on first name terms with Scowly-face the ticket person. They formed a tightly knit group, talking quietly in a very superior sort of way.

An extremely elegant black guy walked in, with his very beautiful girlfriend. He was tall, lean, good-looking and very expensively dressed. Only trouble was, he didn't realise that one trouser leg was tucked into the top of his sock, as he sauntered down the station catwalk......Oh, boy.

Did you know that Arriva staff now have a very grandiose title? They are now known as The Train Presentation Team. Wow. Uber-cool.

The stationmaster is now called the Train Despatcher.

The 7.21 arrived promptly, and I left the waiting room, and its accompanying smell of disinfectant and fags. Plonking myself down on a rear-facing seat (because the train reverses OUT of the next station, and then I'd be facing forward again), I went through the usual angst of "Who Will Sit Next To Me and How Do I Discourage Them?" Should I put on a scowly-ticket-seller type of face? Or put my legs up on the opposite seat? Or talk loudly into my mobile, guffawing the whole time?

Fate took a hand. A vast lady heaved herself in to the seat opposite. She had a sullen expression on her face. No-one would wish to upset her, and consequently, no-one sat next to me!

It was interesting to observe all the strategies that passengers use to avoid having to sit next to someone else. The most commonly used are as follows:

Avoid eye contact AT ALL COSTS.
Pretend to be asleep.
Pretend to have a really bad cold, cough a lot. (germs etc)
Rummage around in your bag for a non-existent essential article.(me)
Slouch in a slovenly teenage fashion - take up at least 2 seats.

However, at the next stop, the lady exited. Enter Sheena the Punkrocker. Black hair, lips, nails, white face, purple mini skirt, slightly too plump legs squashed into laddered black tights, complete with her Ventolin pump and her mobile. Every eventuality covered.

I could not believe my eyes when, at the next stop, on got a CYCLIST (in lycra) with a bike. I am destined to encounter this species wherever I go. Then he got out his PC, put it on top of his sweaty lycra legs, and tapped away......

The refreshments trolley was manned by a self-conscious young chap with a well-rehearsed repertoire. "Would you like any refreshments, Madam?" he asked, in a strong Swansea accent. He served my coffee very professionally, pulling down the little table for me, and giving me a paper napkin! I was fascinated to note that if you fancied a glass of wine (at 8 am?!) it came pre-packed in a dinky little plastic glass, sealed, and labelled "Sauvignon Blanc." How chi-chi.

And so, Arriva arrived at Cardiff. The station has become so much more cosmopolitan and high-tech. However, there was nothing high-tech about the people who were begging just outside.

All in all, the service provided was surprisingly PRETTY GOOD. Nothing major to complain about at all.

Anything slightly unusual or quaint just added to the flavour of the journey.............

Sonia Davies

Sonia is a Health Visitor, wife, mother of two and owns two dogs (labrador and a husky)

She lives in Llanelli, goes for very long walks, was an International Competition Organiser for Welsh Rhythmic Gymnastics, plays piano, and of course, likes to write!

To read more of Sonia's work, visit http://ladiesversed.blogspot.com/

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