Back from a very nice holiday spent with sons No’s 1 & 2 in Devon, 2 whole days of which were spent travelling. Non-Ukians think England is a dinky little island but in truth it takes over an hour to get from one side of Devon to the other and another half hour to the Somerset border. Think Ultima Thule with added pasties and clotted cream and you’d be about right. I had planned to try and blog hile away, but lacking the necessary gadgets to do so (my son not having internet access in his new flat yet) I didn’t. Yes, I know I could’ve found an internet cafe but Primark had really nice jumpers made by slave labour for six quid and there was lovely underwear at Marks and Sparks…
So anyway after my week of consumer gluttony, on the return journey -2 days after Christmas, the time when people are thinking of travelling for the New Year – one might think that the train companies might want to make some money and there’d be ample train provision.
This is where British readers laugh hollowly.
Nope, the train that runs from Penzance to Edinburgh, the train that takes in every major station in the Midlands on the way and stops at all of the North’s biggest cities , the train that connects with several airports, the conveniently-timed train, that lots of people want to catch – that bloody train had only four carriages and two loos, one of which was buggered and the other you couldn’t get to.
Naturally one of those four carriages was a virtually deserted First Class.
Even though all the other seats were already all reserved Virgin continued to sell open tickets. With the result that the journey turned into the 08.25 commuter service to Mumbai. Old people, the disabled and small children were virtually hanging off the roof.
Oy. I could go on at length and I see I already have. But a couple of things happened on the journey. First were the two visbly learning-disabled people who got on at Exeter and who stood foursquare blocking the gangway as people, suitcases and tempers poled up behind them, informing and sundry very LOUDLY that they were disabled and demanding people move and give them their seats.
After much confusion it transpired (via all the passengers overhearing their loudly whispered onversation with the young women nearest them) that the couple’s carer had booked the tickets and hadn’t told the rail company they needed help , which (in theory) they could have had he or she done so. Their seats would’ve been automatically reserved.
So did anyone have pity and give up their seat to the pair? Hell no, and I find it hard to blame them for it. This is probably going to sound horrible but the woman of the couple had such an obnoxious, wheedling yet demanding tone the carriage collectively turned its back, insofar as it was able given the lack of space. It was blatantly obvious from the repetition of the same phrase – “We’re disabled, we should have seats” repeated loudly and agressively over and over – that the woman, who was the more dominant of the two, had used the same tactic sucessfully before.
In the end the Martin and I gave them our seats as we were just coming to our station and the seats were only reserved to that point, but to be honest had we been going further, I’d’ve probably ignored them just as the rest of the carriage did.
Contrast this with the second event : a blind woman’s guide dog very nearly was crushed under the wheels of the train as we got off at Bristol. As the whistle blew there was such a crush trying to get on the train that as she and the dog were climbing onboard, it’s back feet slipped and with a loud yelp it slid uncontrollably backwards, scrabbling all the way, down between the train’s wheels and the platform, very nearly taking its owner with it. The poor animal was visibly distressed, not because of any pain it was in but because it was desperate to make sure it’s mistress was OK. Luckily several passengers had stopped the train and four of them bodily lifted the dog, a young golden labrador, back up onto the platform. I hate to think what might have happened had they not been so quick and so obviously did the owner, who we met later in the lift in floods of understandable tears.
It really illustrated the way people treat the disabled, even allowing for context: the blind oman with the dog is seen as valiant and worthy, the deserving disabled, and the the cognitively challenged couple, with no actual physical disability, is annoying irritation to be brushed off and ignored. I’m just as guilty as anyone else of that..
So anyway we’re finally home. And guess what? The main junction box in the flat blew and we just had to get an emergency electrician to replace it. A cable from the street top box had burnt through as a result of the power company doing a botch job on it, which blew every fuse and the whole box. We were very lucky the place didn’t burn down when we were away. It cost 330 bloody euro. On top of Christmas and an already battle-scarred bank account. Arrgh.
Oh and we seem to have acquired another cat during our absence. When we came in exhausted and foostsore last night, sitting large as life and twice as ugly on our sofa having cowed our three into stunned silence at its effrontery and having driven them to the sanctuary of our bedroom, was a largish young male tabby. Cheeky sod. We soon gave him the bum’s rush but he’s left poor three-legged Hector with a big claw gash in his neck. Brave little Hector, I’ve got him some posh turkey catfod as a consolation for that and for the the three of them missing the picking from the real turkey carcase, which by the way was hand-reared at a Devon organic farm and very delicious it was too.
Santa was very kind this year and brought me the boxed DVD set of David Attenborough’s fantastic Planet Earth and the biography of Frederick the Great by Nancy Mitford that I’d been wanting to complete my collection, ditto an album by Nostalgia 77, and a gorgeous pair of gold and amber earrings that match my hair.
So, how was your Christmas?
Read more: Festive domestic wibbling
