The Hole In The Hedge Train

I’m on the early train this morning. It’s half empty and I’ve two seats to myself. Normally I get a later train where there is no room to swing a cat. I could swing several cats on this one. Simultaneously. We could have a cat swinging contest. I doubt if I’d win though. I’m not a fan of cats. Give me a medium sized dog though and I’d be fine. I’d slaughter the opposition in a medium sized dog throwing competition.

This train isn’t an express which means it stops at every station on the way into Belfast. All 367 of them. Or so it feels. We call them ‘hole in the hedge’ trains. I’ve never climbed through a hole in a hedge and wonder if they reveal some Narnia-esque kingdom. This seems unlikely as, to date, no talking otters or fauns have boarded the 6:49 to Great Victoria Street. One can live in hope, though.

My monthly ticket runs out tomorrow. It clearly says that on said ticket. Yet, my mind works differently. I fret and worry that the conductor will say it runs out today and hauls me off the train into the arms of the waiting constabulary. My career and life in ruins, a social pariah all for the sake of a £9.60 return. This is how OCD works. Never mind mole hills. It turns flecks of dust into Everests of the subconscious.

The automated voice lady is earning her corn today. In seven years doing this journey, I’ve never been able to place her accent. It’s a not quite anything accent. Saying that, she always brings her A game and never gets a word wrong. I wonder who she is and how much she got paid for perfectly pronouncing every ‘hole in the hedge’ service between Newry and Bangor. Whatever it was, it wasn’t enough.

I often imagine she is an out of work Shakespearean actor reduced to reading train timetables in order to keep the wolves from the door. How demeaning for her. I bet she does a mean Lady Macbeth and dreams of plunging a dagger into the heart of the agent who booked her this rubbish gig. Hubble, bubble, toil and trouble indeed. Thankfully I have yet to encounter the ghost of Banquo.

The train is starting to fill up now with ‘hole in the hedge people.’ Given they reside in fields and start their working days clambering through muddy ditches, they all look very presentable. Not a hair out of place, or a stray twig to be seen. Maybe it’s magic or possibly they have so perfected their morning routines they can slide effortlessly past thorn and bramble. It’s quite the achievement.

We are entering the suburbs now. The city is starting to stir and reality is beginning to settle on this magical train as it trundles through the murky morning. City types will be getting on at the next stop. There are no hedges on this section of the line. I will have to stop writing gibberish soon and don my grown up mask. I am entering the world of the grown ups. I don’t fit in here. I like to gibber.

Sometimes it helps to gibber. To just write, to free flow. To stop worrying about what you think other people want to read and just purge your head of all the nonsense floating around inside. I may gibber more in the future, I may not. Anyway I am nearing my final destination. There are no more stops. The day has started in earnest now. It’s time to smile and face the big, bad world. It’s time to play the game.

An Idiot Abroad – My Adventures In London – Part 1

I write this post from my hotel room in London. Despite the street outside sounding like a scene from ‘The Fast And The Furious’ last night, I managed to sleep quite well. We are staying in Mayfair, which is one of the most expensive properties on a Monopoly board. It’s apparently quite posh, swanky and other words to that effect. I will take their word for this as we arrived at the hotel at 9:00pm last night and I was in bed by 9:15.

The journey from Belfast to London passed without incident. Oh, apart from the drone sighting at Heathrow which meant we were kept on the plane for an extra 30 minutes upon landing. Tempers flared and mutinous mutterings abounded as the captain and his crew valiantly attempted to keep passengers in their rows with their seatbelts on. I buried my nose in my Kindle and pined for bed.

We eventually disembarked and, after a 17 mile hike, caught the Heathrow Express to Paddington. My colleague has little experience of public transport in the capital so it was left to yours truly to navigate the route to Mayfair. This involved Phase 3 of our arduous journey – the London Underground. This entailed catching the Circle Line to Baker Street before transferring to the Jubilee Line, and continuing on to Green Park.

I worked out the route, mastered the ticket purchase machine, and even managed to get us through the barriers without being knocked over by herds of Oyster card waving commuters. After another 5 mile trot we found our platform, to be informed by a disembodied voice from above that there were delays on other lines due to there ‘being a person on the line at Sloane Square.’

The tube journey itself was a mildly disappointing experience. There were no stabbings, mass brawls or tense hostage situations involving Tom Cruise or that other bloke, what’s his face, Jason Bourne. Our transfer passed without incident and we arrived at Green Park in good time. From there, our hotel was a two minute walk away. I was home and hosed, or so I thought.

I spent the next 20 minutes travelling up and down in a Victorian era lift which resolutely refused to deposit me on the 5th floor. Other residents came and went, while I smiled and nodded at them while frantically pressing buttons like a demented lift attendant. I contemplated using the stairs but a sign sternly informed me that they were for emergency use only. In the end I stormed to reception, where the bemused concierge looked at me as if I was an utter idiot.

‘Have you used your keycard sir?’ he politely enquired, before referring me to the large sign within the lift indicating that the lift would only function if you inserted your room keycard in the equally visible slot. I mumbled an embarrassed apology and sheepishly retreated to the now perfectly functioning lift. I had triumphed over drones and one of the most complex underground systems in the world, only to fall flat on my face at the final hurdle.

I need to get up now and do battle with the aforementioned lift shaft again. Who knows when I will reach the breakfast buffet, if ever. Stay tuned for a later update on my adventures in London. Our meeting this morning is in Pall Mall. It’s the pink section on a Monopoly board. Then, it’s back to Belfast this evening. That seems like an awfully long way away at present. And who knows what adventures lie in between.

What’s been your weirdest lift/elevator experience?

Have you ever been stuck on a plane or train?

The Winning Ticket – Part 1

As many of you know, I get the train to and from Belfast every day as part of my commute to work. My adventures on the 07:53 express to often feature on this blog. Today’s post is no exception. But today I want to talk about money, or rather saving money. Something I’m not very good at normally but we, as a family, have been making a big effort at of late in order to become more economically frugal.

I normally think nothing of landing at the station and purchasing a daily return ticket to Belfast – £9:60, no less. In an average month, I make this transaction approximately 20 times. Which, if you do the maths/math/finger counting, equates to forking out £192 per month on travelling to and from the office. A sizeable outgoing, I’m sure you will agree. With me so far? Good, then I’ll continue.

When it comes to good ideas in our house, you will normally find that 99% of them originate from Fionnuala. For it was she who suggested I research the price of a monthly return ticket to Belfast. When I checked, I was amazed to find that this cost a mere £138. A saving of £54 a month. That’s £648 a year! Imagine all the Diet Coke and honeycomb ice cream I could buy with that.

It was with some smugness, therefore, that I made my purchase at the beginning of the month. I clutched my brand new, shiny monthly ticket as if it was a winning lottery ticket. The conductor even gave me a little plastic wallet to hold it on, so that it would never become torn or creased. I felt akin to public transport royalty. Then it struck me. What if I lost it?

I’m a bit of an expert at ‘misplacing’ items. Keys, wallets, anything remotely valuable. My mind is a leaky sieve and Fionnuala and Rebecca are forever running around after me, picking up the detritus of my life. How on Earth then could I be trusted to hang on to a tiny ticket for an entire month without it going AWOL? Which would necessitate yours truly having to go permanently AWOL when he reported the bad news back to his wife!

What happened next? Find out later today in Part 2 of ‘The Winning Ticket.’

Are You On The Right Tracks This Morning?

Good Morning. I have a busy, but exciting day, ahead. I’m on the 06:13 train to Belfast, a full 90 minutes before my normal one. The reason? I have a big meeting to attend this afternoon, so want to get in early to prepare for it. A three hour meeting, no less, where I will be bombarded with questions by our senior management team. I need to look smart and think smart. All prayers and kind thoughts would be much appreciated.

The 07:48 express to Belfast is normally standing room only, as we are crammed into carriages like claustrophobic sardines, thanks to the good people of Northern Ireland Translink who resolutely refuse to put on extra carriages as that would ‘cost too much.’ It reminds me of one of those trains, you see on the Indian sub-continent. Next thing they will be charging folk to sit on the roof.

The 06:13 is an entirely different experience. It was empty. I had my pick of the seats, indeed I almost had an entire carriage to myself. I’ve heard of the early bird catching the worm but this is ridiculous. It was a veritable ghost train, hurtling through the darkness towards the bright lights of Belfast. Getting up early was hard this morning, but I reaped the reward. It was worth the struggle and effort on my part.

Of late, my faith has been a little bit like my train experiences. For a long time, I’ve been lazy. Not physically, but rather spiritually. I’ve been quite content to go with the flow, and drift along with the masses. I’ve done the bare minimum with regards my prayer life and Bible reading. I’ve turned my back on Christian fellowship and run a mile from anything remotely resembling a church.

I’ve become a zombie. I walk, I talk, I breathe. On the exterior, I give all the signs of being a perfectly normal, functioning human being. But inside, I have been dead. My faith has shrivelled up, a dried husk desperately in need of hydration and cultivation. I have succumbed to old habits and allowed my OCD to read its ugly head once more. I have chosen wrong paths and made poor decisions. I have taken the easy option and boarded the wrong train.

You will never be short of company on the wrong train. For it’s where the majority of us, end up at some point in our lives. You might have been on it recently, or indeed are travelling on it as I write this now. It’s the easier option, but an altogether less pleasant alternative. It’s taking you to the same destination, but in a very different manner. Your legs ache and fellow commuters elbow you in the ribs. It sucks.

The ghost train involved a little more effort, but is worth it. You travel in more spacious surroundings. It’s the train you need to be on, the train that your loved ones need to be on. Yet, it’s virtually empty. I’m going to be making a greater effort in the future to consistently board the ghost train. You can even call it the Holy Ghost train….did you see what I did there. Sorry, got a bit carried away there.

What train are you boarding today? Are you taking the lazy option, are you switching off and backing down, when you need to be switching on and stepping up to the mark? I would encourage you to join me on the ghost train today. I could sure do with the company and I’ve saved you a seat. It sure beats spending your commute with your nose shoved into a stranger’s armpit.

What train are you boarding this morning?

What’s been your worst commute to work?

That Time I Frightened A German Teenager On The London Underground

So there I was yesterday afternoon. Sitting on the tube as it hurtled beneath the streets of London towards our stop. It was packed which meant that my work colleague was sitting further down the carriage whilst I was surrounded by a gaggle of excited German teenagers who had embarked at the previous stop. I decided to give up my seat to one of them and move down the carriage nearer my colleague.

I did this for a number of reasons. Firstly I am a gentleman and an all round top guy. You should always give up your seat to a lady who is standing or at least offer to do so. The fact that 99 times out of 100 I ignore this etiquette on my daily commute in and out of Belfast is besides the point. A mere trifling detail. I’m a Christian and we are all a major disappointment to our God but he loves us anyway, flaws and all. Moving swiftly on.

The real reason I gave up my seat was that I was afraid I would become separated from my colleague at our stop. I can barely find my way around our village back home let alone one of the largest cities in the world. This meant standing for a few moments but I was alright with that. I caught my colleague’s eye and confirmed with her that we would be disembarking at the next stop. All was good and I was an anxiety free Stephen.

That lasted for a fleeting few seconds as I realised that the German teenage girl sitting next to my colleague was looking at me in a manner which meant only one thing. She was considering giving up her seat to me. She saw an opportunity to perform an act of kindness towards an elderly man laden down with luggage in a stuffy, crammed compartment. I saw only humiliation, despair and the end of my middle age.

I had been dreading this day for many years. It would effectively signal the end of my life and send me sailing down the slippery slope of free bus passes, ear hair and knitted cardigans. I fixed her with a desperate expression. ‘Do. Not. Do. It. I am in full possession of my faculties. I ran a sub four hour marathon the other week. I am not your grandfather. There is no need for this you incredibly kind, but hopelessly deluded German teenager. For the love of sweet Jesus. Don’t.’

Of course I said none of the above but my powers of telepathy must have somehow got through to her. Which was cool because (a) I didn’t know I was a telepath and (b) that I was a bi-lingual one at that. She looked away and the moment was gone. I had survived and thankfully disembarked a few moments later. I will never forget that kind German girl. Just as she will probably never forget the crazed, perspiring, staring Irishman who gave her the creeps on the tube.

As near misses go this was probably a Def Con 4 experience. I know that the day is coming when a young person will offer me their seat on public transport. Just as I know that I will respond with maturity and grace by undoubtedly glaring at them before storming off down the carriage in a strop. I increasingly feel as if I’m running out of time and yesterday was merely another example of that. The clock is ticking. Faster than I want it to.

It’s just life and I guess I will have to accept that. Live in the present and enjoy the many positives surrounding me today. Be thankful for what I have, not what I’ve lost or think I need. I am where I am for a reason. I cannot take my eye off that ball. So today this forty something is grateful for what he has – his family, his fractured faith, his fitness….and kind, German teenagers on the London Underground.

What’s been your most humiliating public transport experience?

Are you worried that life is passing you by too quickly?

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑