Dear Mark and Sue
Re: 08.06 FGW service from Oxford to Paddington, 18/8/11. Amount of my day wasted: nine minutes.
Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear. Dearie, dearie, me. Mark. Sue. Whatever are we to do? Three days, three delays. What's going on? What's occurring? What the blue blazes are you chaps playing at?
And all in the week that we find out about our fares increases, too! Oh my days! I'm no huge Alastair Campbell or anything, Mark (I'm not even a small Alastair Campbell. I'm not even Sol Campbell. I'm not even Naomi Campbell) but even I can see that this was probably not the week in which you wanted your service to deteriorate even further. You don't need a doctor to diagnose that spin, Sue. You need... actually, what do you need? Competence, maybe? Or a conscience.
These things, and so much more, have been on my mind, Mark, in the 24 hours since last I wrote to you. Yes, yes, I know you've been lording it up in the old Costas, Mark, conga-ing the days away and quaffing pina coladas through the balmy vay-cay nights... but back here in Blighty, it's all going Pete Tong.
Mark: I'm not ashamed to say that Sue and I have been in a proper pickle about it. We've been fretting, fixating. We've been frustrated and befuddled over just what we're going to do with this whole situation. What are we going to do? How can we fix this?
I'm just a kid with a crazy dream and she's just a girl with a gift for communication... but together we wanna make this work, you know what I mean? We want to make First Great Western first again! Great again! (We kind of figure the Western bit is covered already.) And if we can't do that... well then we want to at least make some of the trains run on time!
And you know what people keep telling me? They keep saying it's going to take money. My money. (Not your money - your money's fine, your money's safe.) What do you think?
Oh, Mark! I knew you'd say that! You think it's going to take my money to sort it out too! You want my folding. You need my lucre - a lot of it, and as filthy as it comes. Well... you've got it. It's yours. You've got eight per cent more from now on, to add to the nine per cent more I gave you last year. (Thank me later. No really: thank me later. But do thank me.)
So: there's your wonga. There's your wedge. Now go sort it all out. Make the trains run on time, Mark. Get communicating, Sue. Don't let my hard-earned go to waste.
Do I sound a little obsessed with this topic? I am sorry: I'll drop it now. I'll talk about something else. (After all, there's plenty of time. I've got nine minutes of your time to waste today, Mark. Nine minutes you owe me after this morning's delay.) But I'm afraid it is something of a fault of mine (one of my few visible faults, Sue! How many did you spot, that time we met, that day we caught the train? How many of my peccadilloes did you pick up on?) - it is a fault, this habit I have of banging on and on about something until it's resolved.
Perhaps that's why I became a journalist, Sue. Journalism is, after all, one of the few professions where being an obsessive pedant and self-aggrandising smartypants is seen as a thoroughly good thing. It's one of the few careers where that kind of behaviour is encouraged.
How about train company management, Mark? What kind of qualifications do you need to get into that game? How about directing communications, Sue? What's the entry-level requirements for that kind of gig?
Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yes, my faults. My (mostly hidden, but occasionally glaring) faults. Generosity is one. Banging on about stuff another. And, er, something else. Oh yes! Forgetfulness!*
You know what someone once said to me, Mark? He said that my problem was that I exaggerated everything.
The cheek of it! Do you want to know what I said right back to him? I said that was the most ridiculous thing I'd ever heard in my whole life. I said that was the most absurd thing anyone had ever said about anything ever. I said that I had never in fact exaggerated once in my whole life. I told him he was the biggest fool on the face of the earth.
But I'm being rude, talking about myself like this. What do you think, Mark? What's your interpretation, Sue? Am I too generous? Do I bang on too much? Am I becoming obsessed? Am I beginning to grate on you, like an itch, like a dripping tap, like a papercut? Are these letters, to be frank, becoming a pain in the proverbial? Am I getting right on your Hamptons?
It's awful when that happens, isn't it? When there's this daily irritation, this persistent, unnecessary annoyance in your life, this one little thing that every single day seems designed to wind you up? It so is! Isn't it Mark? Sue?
Au revoir!
Dom
*That was a joke, Sue. I'm not really forgetful. I'm like an elephant in that respect. Literally.
Thursday, 18 August 2011
Wednesday, 17 August 2011
17 August 2011. Letter 18
Dear Mark and Sue
Re: 08.06 FGW service from Oxford to Paddington, 17/8/11. Amount of my day wasted: six minutes.
Mark! Sue! Hey you! How's things today? I expect you're all a little woolly-headed, bleary-eyed and green around the gills this morning, eh? I bet you're all feeling it a bit... what with the inevitable celebrations yesterday's news must have brought. Did the party go on long into the night? Was the disco still going strong into the early hours?
Ooh, I'll bet it did - after all, somehow you've managed to pull off the trick of getting your own customers (the people to who you're supposed to be providing a service) to pay for improvements to your company! Leaving your profits undented! You win both ends up!
Mark, Sue: you have my congratulations - it's quite a move.
It's despicable, of course. It's a disgrace. A scandal. It's outrageous that you should even be thinking of raising the prices of your fares by (at least) three per cent above the rate of inflation at a time when your service is actually being held up as an example of how not to run a train company... It disgusts me, of course it does. But I can't help admiring the audacity of it. No wonder you all had a drink last night. You must be very proud of yourselves.
What's that you say, Sue? How am I feeling today? Lovely of you to ask! I feel, as John Lennon warbled, fine. Only delayed by six minutes this morning, so, y'know, mustn't grumble. And a lovely thing did happen on the train today, as we paused for breath near Didcot, as we took a moment to collect ourselves before the last limp into that station... a magical thing, happened, Sue! I saw a kite!
Not that kind of kite, silly! Not the Mary Poppins kind, the "up to the highest height" kind. I mean a Red Kite. A bird of prey! It was massive! It hovered above the corn fields, it paused... and hovered... and paused... and then... BAM! Dropped like a stone! Whoosh! Up it came with something in its claws and flapped hugely away. Mark! It was amazing! Worth six minutes of anyone's time.
Thankyou Mark. Well done, Sue. If you'd been running an efficient service I'd never have seen that kite. If you'd been doing your jobs properly, I'd have missed out on it all. Nature in the raw! I owe you one.
And you know what else? It also reminded me of a marvelous story I once heard. A story I'm going to have to incorporate into the novel I'm one day going to write (ah! The novel! Wait for another big delay, Mark, and I'll fill you right in on the novel. It's a cracker. A real page-turner. It's unputdownable!).
In fact, thinking about it, it's the kind of story one could hinge a whole novel around. It's a metaphor, Sue. It's what I believe they call a "conceit" in the old inky-fingered game.
So here it is. Here's my conceit.
You know the sloth, Mark? Big, lazy, south American beast. Lives in the jungle. Got a reputation for idleness. Got a rap for bumming around. Even has a Deadly Sin named after it. (That's harsh, isn't it?) Of course you know the sloth. But did you know how sloths die? What they die of?
They die of starvation, Mark. Sloths - they get up on their branch, they eat all the leaves around them... and then, after a bit, they get hungry, and look around for some more leaves to eat. And what do they do? They move, of course, they eat some more.
Except that after a few years of this, the average sloth gets to the point where he looks around, sees no leaves to eat within handy reaching distance and thinks... ah, screw it. Can't be bothered. Can't be bothered moving.
And that's how they die! They die of starvation. They die because they can't even be bothered eating, if eating means moving, ooh, a few feet along a branch. They would rather sit there and slowly starve to death than muster up the energy to shuffle a couple of steps to their left.
Isn't that amazing Mark? Isn't it awesome? Such dedication! Such clarity of purpose!
That's not laziness, Mark. That ain't indolence, Sue. Sloths have got a bad write-up on that front. That's something else entirely. That's extraordinary single-minded belief: that's what that is. To be so committed to your own bloody-mindedness that you're prepared to starve to death for it! It's totally Nietzschean!
One word, amigos: wow. When I think sloths, I think: "wow".
What do you think? Do you think "wow"? Do you think they'd make a good metaphor? Could I hinge a whole novel around that conceit? I'd sure welcome your feedback!
Au revoir!
Dom
ps - you may have noticed that this letter is longer than it really should be for a six minute delay. Let's call it about three percent longer than the rate of inflation, shall we?
Re: 08.06 FGW service from Oxford to Paddington, 17/8/11. Amount of my day wasted: six minutes.
Mark! Sue! Hey you! How's things today? I expect you're all a little woolly-headed, bleary-eyed and green around the gills this morning, eh? I bet you're all feeling it a bit... what with the inevitable celebrations yesterday's news must have brought. Did the party go on long into the night? Was the disco still going strong into the early hours?
Ooh, I'll bet it did - after all, somehow you've managed to pull off the trick of getting your own customers (the people to who you're supposed to be providing a service) to pay for improvements to your company! Leaving your profits undented! You win both ends up!
Mark, Sue: you have my congratulations - it's quite a move.
It's despicable, of course. It's a disgrace. A scandal. It's outrageous that you should even be thinking of raising the prices of your fares by (at least) three per cent above the rate of inflation at a time when your service is actually being held up as an example of how not to run a train company... It disgusts me, of course it does. But I can't help admiring the audacity of it. No wonder you all had a drink last night. You must be very proud of yourselves.
What's that you say, Sue? How am I feeling today? Lovely of you to ask! I feel, as John Lennon warbled, fine. Only delayed by six minutes this morning, so, y'know, mustn't grumble. And a lovely thing did happen on the train today, as we paused for breath near Didcot, as we took a moment to collect ourselves before the last limp into that station... a magical thing, happened, Sue! I saw a kite!
Not that kind of kite, silly! Not the Mary Poppins kind, the "up to the highest height" kind. I mean a Red Kite. A bird of prey! It was massive! It hovered above the corn fields, it paused... and hovered... and paused... and then... BAM! Dropped like a stone! Whoosh! Up it came with something in its claws and flapped hugely away. Mark! It was amazing! Worth six minutes of anyone's time.
Thankyou Mark. Well done, Sue. If you'd been running an efficient service I'd never have seen that kite. If you'd been doing your jobs properly, I'd have missed out on it all. Nature in the raw! I owe you one.
And you know what else? It also reminded me of a marvelous story I once heard. A story I'm going to have to incorporate into the novel I'm one day going to write (ah! The novel! Wait for another big delay, Mark, and I'll fill you right in on the novel. It's a cracker. A real page-turner. It's unputdownable!).
In fact, thinking about it, it's the kind of story one could hinge a whole novel around. It's a metaphor, Sue. It's what I believe they call a "conceit" in the old inky-fingered game.
So here it is. Here's my conceit.
You know the sloth, Mark? Big, lazy, south American beast. Lives in the jungle. Got a reputation for idleness. Got a rap for bumming around. Even has a Deadly Sin named after it. (That's harsh, isn't it?) Of course you know the sloth. But did you know how sloths die? What they die of?
They die of starvation, Mark. Sloths - they get up on their branch, they eat all the leaves around them... and then, after a bit, they get hungry, and look around for some more leaves to eat. And what do they do? They move, of course, they eat some more.
Except that after a few years of this, the average sloth gets to the point where he looks around, sees no leaves to eat within handy reaching distance and thinks... ah, screw it. Can't be bothered. Can't be bothered moving.
And that's how they die! They die of starvation. They die because they can't even be bothered eating, if eating means moving, ooh, a few feet along a branch. They would rather sit there and slowly starve to death than muster up the energy to shuffle a couple of steps to their left.
Isn't that amazing Mark? Isn't it awesome? Such dedication! Such clarity of purpose!
That's not laziness, Mark. That ain't indolence, Sue. Sloths have got a bad write-up on that front. That's something else entirely. That's extraordinary single-minded belief: that's what that is. To be so committed to your own bloody-mindedness that you're prepared to starve to death for it! It's totally Nietzschean!
One word, amigos: wow. When I think sloths, I think: "wow".
What do you think? Do you think "wow"? Do you think they'd make a good metaphor? Could I hinge a whole novel around that conceit? I'd sure welcome your feedback!
Au revoir!
Dom
ps - you may have noticed that this letter is longer than it really should be for a six minute delay. Let's call it about three percent longer than the rate of inflation, shall we?
Sue communicates! Again!
Dear Dom
Thank for your email. I am sorry we delayed you on Monday evening.
An earlier train was late leaving the depot, which caused some congestion and as a result our 19:22 was held up at Reading.
I appreciate accuracy is important to you and it is equally important to us. Our train running data is gathered electronically, direct from points on the track, which pick up the time the train passes. It is then compared to the advertised timetable and logged. It is this log that we use to find out the cause of any delay you have experienced. If it gives a recorded arrival time of 20:20, for example, its actual arrival time could have been between 20:20:00 and 20:20:59. I hope this explains any slight differences noticed but it's absolutely never been our intention to challenge or dispute the extent you've been delayed, in any way.
I am also pleased to have the chance to explain where we stand in regard to the recent government announcement regarding January's fares increase, which changes the formula the government uses to calculate average regulated fare rises from RPI+1per cent to RPI+3per cent.
While we can think of many things that we would like to spend the extra money on, the extra revenue generated is actually returned direct to the Government. This was a commitment set by them as part of our Franchise agreement and is the same for all UK train operators.
Once again, I am sorry we delayed you on Monday.
Kind regards
Sue
Thank for your email. I am sorry we delayed you on Monday evening.
An earlier train was late leaving the depot, which caused some congestion and as a result our 19:22 was held up at Reading.
I appreciate accuracy is important to you and it is equally important to us. Our train running data is gathered electronically, direct from points on the track, which pick up the time the train passes. It is then compared to the advertised timetable and logged. It is this log that we use to find out the cause of any delay you have experienced. If it gives a recorded arrival time of 20:20, for example, its actual arrival time could have been between 20:20:00 and 20:20:59. I hope this explains any slight differences noticed but it's absolutely never been our intention to challenge or dispute the extent you've been delayed, in any way.
I am also pleased to have the chance to explain where we stand in regard to the recent government announcement regarding January's fares increase, which changes the formula the government uses to calculate average regulated fare rises from RPI+1per cent to RPI+3per cent.
While we can think of many things that we would like to spend the extra money on, the extra revenue generated is actually returned direct to the Government. This was a commitment set by them as part of our Franchise agreement and is the same for all UK train operators.
Once again, I am sorry we delayed you on Monday.
Kind regards
Sue
Tuesday, 16 August 2011
15 August 2011. Letter 17
Dear Mark and Sue
Re: 19.22 FGW service from Paddington to Oxford, 15/8/11. Amount of my day wasted: 11 minutes.
Buenos dias amigos! Donde esta? (That's Spanish, that is, Sue - I'm trying to keep things in a holiday mood for Mark. A little of the local lingo to make him feel abroad at home. Or at home abroad. A touch of the old "dos cerveza and a full English" if you know what I mean. It's good to make the effort. Broadens the mind, don't you find?)
Hey! No need to ask how you two are today! Today is a good day for all you funsters at First Great Western! You're getting your above-inflation price rises. Well done! You must be very excited - all that extra cash to splash out, all that wonga to burn! What are you going to blow it on, Mark? A shiny new engine shed? A sparkling state-of-the-art fleet of locomotives? Some working toilets on the trains you've already got?
The possibilities are endless. And coming so soon after your last above-inflation price rise, too! Truly: it's the gift that just keeps giving. Your passengers, I mean. Your customers. We're the gifts who just keep giving.
So anyway - you're welcome. Thank me properly another time. And in the meantime, I'd like to say thanks to you, Sue. Thankyou for your most recent letter. It was, as ever, beautifully communicated. Pithy, precise, pointed. Perfectly formed. A prose poem of communication!
I do feel compelled, however, in the interests of accuracy, to point out that it was also somewhat inaccurate. I hate to quibble over a mere 60 seconds (although as we have already discovered, according to the Barlow Standard, that is exactly the time in which it takes to fall in love) - but, well, I'm going to. That train was five minutes late, not four. I say tomato, you say, oh, I dunno, points failure, or somesuch.
I've been pondering this, Sue. I take my timings from the clocks at the station - I get off the train, I look at the clock, I know how late I am. (I've been getting quite pernickity about it too. Quite nerdy. Maybe it's a boy thing - is it a boy thing, Sue? Are all boys number-obsessed nerds? I don't think so. I think only about 87 per cent of boys are number-obsessed nerds. Maybe 88 per cent at most.)
So where do your timings come from? Do you time the train's arrival by when it stops? Like everyone else in the world? Or do you take your inspiration from athletics, and consider the (metaphorical) tape broken the moment the tip of the train's nose crosses the leading edge of the platform? I would be genuinely fascinated to find out.
Am I beginning to sound a little obsessed, Sue? Is your train company taking over my life, Mark? The truth is that I've had plenty of time to mull these things over. Last night, for example, I had eleven extra minutes in my otherwise stimulating and event-filled day, to think about the ineptitude of the service you provide. Eleven minutes during which I gazed out blank-eyed and bored over the rainy rooftops of Reading.
Have you ever been to Reading, Mark? Of course you have! It's the Rome of Middle England! All railroads lead to Reading! Reading, the city of visible history, where the past of a whole hemisphere seems moving in funeral procession with strange ancestral images and trophies gathered from afar! Of course you've been to Reading!
The things is: I like Reading too. It's alright, is Reading! But, and intending no offence to the good citizens of that town, it doesn't look so stimulating on a wet Monday night in mid-August. Not when you're standing on one of your chronically-overcrowded trains. Not when you're paying through the nose for the privilege. Not when you've just read in your evening paper that you're about to be asked to pay even more in the future.
I'm afraid that in these circumstances, Sue, Reading doesn't really feel like the Rome of Middle England at all. It just feels like somewhere you want to pass through on your way home.
Still. Let's not get too down about things. You kids have got shopping trips to plan! I hope there's going to be money left over for a nice bonus or two for the boys (and girls, Sue! Mustn't forget the girls!) at the top. Lord knows you deserve it, right?
Au revoir!
Dom
Re: 19.22 FGW service from Paddington to Oxford, 15/8/11. Amount of my day wasted: 11 minutes.
Buenos dias amigos! Donde esta? (That's Spanish, that is, Sue - I'm trying to keep things in a holiday mood for Mark. A little of the local lingo to make him feel abroad at home. Or at home abroad. A touch of the old "dos cerveza and a full English" if you know what I mean. It's good to make the effort. Broadens the mind, don't you find?)
Hey! No need to ask how you two are today! Today is a good day for all you funsters at First Great Western! You're getting your above-inflation price rises. Well done! You must be very excited - all that extra cash to splash out, all that wonga to burn! What are you going to blow it on, Mark? A shiny new engine shed? A sparkling state-of-the-art fleet of locomotives? Some working toilets on the trains you've already got?
The possibilities are endless. And coming so soon after your last above-inflation price rise, too! Truly: it's the gift that just keeps giving. Your passengers, I mean. Your customers. We're the gifts who just keep giving.
So anyway - you're welcome. Thank me properly another time. And in the meantime, I'd like to say thanks to you, Sue. Thankyou for your most recent letter. It was, as ever, beautifully communicated. Pithy, precise, pointed. Perfectly formed. A prose poem of communication!
I do feel compelled, however, in the interests of accuracy, to point out that it was also somewhat inaccurate. I hate to quibble over a mere 60 seconds (although as we have already discovered, according to the Barlow Standard, that is exactly the time in which it takes to fall in love) - but, well, I'm going to. That train was five minutes late, not four. I say tomato, you say, oh, I dunno, points failure, or somesuch.
I've been pondering this, Sue. I take my timings from the clocks at the station - I get off the train, I look at the clock, I know how late I am. (I've been getting quite pernickity about it too. Quite nerdy. Maybe it's a boy thing - is it a boy thing, Sue? Are all boys number-obsessed nerds? I don't think so. I think only about 87 per cent of boys are number-obsessed nerds. Maybe 88 per cent at most.)
So where do your timings come from? Do you time the train's arrival by when it stops? Like everyone else in the world? Or do you take your inspiration from athletics, and consider the (metaphorical) tape broken the moment the tip of the train's nose crosses the leading edge of the platform? I would be genuinely fascinated to find out.
Am I beginning to sound a little obsessed, Sue? Is your train company taking over my life, Mark? The truth is that I've had plenty of time to mull these things over. Last night, for example, I had eleven extra minutes in my otherwise stimulating and event-filled day, to think about the ineptitude of the service you provide. Eleven minutes during which I gazed out blank-eyed and bored over the rainy rooftops of Reading.
Have you ever been to Reading, Mark? Of course you have! It's the Rome of Middle England! All railroads lead to Reading! Reading, the city of visible history, where the past of a whole hemisphere seems moving in funeral procession with strange ancestral images and trophies gathered from afar! Of course you've been to Reading!
The things is: I like Reading too. It's alright, is Reading! But, and intending no offence to the good citizens of that town, it doesn't look so stimulating on a wet Monday night in mid-August. Not when you're standing on one of your chronically-overcrowded trains. Not when you're paying through the nose for the privilege. Not when you've just read in your evening paper that you're about to be asked to pay even more in the future.
I'm afraid that in these circumstances, Sue, Reading doesn't really feel like the Rome of Middle England at all. It just feels like somewhere you want to pass through on your way home.
Still. Let's not get too down about things. You kids have got shopping trips to plan! I hope there's going to be money left over for a nice bonus or two for the boys (and girls, Sue! Mustn't forget the girls!) at the top. Lord knows you deserve it, right?
Au revoir!
Dom
Good Evans! A new reply from Ms Sue!
Dear Dom
Thanks for your email.
I too am disappointed the 08:06 service arrived into Paddington 4 minutes
late, especially after such a good run over the past few days. Please
accept my apologies.
A two minute delay loading bikes on an earlier service was the root cause
of the delay to your train. This had a knock on effect on the running of
others and the end result was congestion on the already very busy stretch
of line between Reading and Paddington at peak time.
It can only take a minute for delays to escalate, which is why it is so
important for us to get this right. We are focused on minimising delays at
stations and are working with our station teams to ensure customers with
bicycles know where to stand on the platform for loading them onto the
train.
I hope you have a good weekend.
Kind regards
Sue
Thanks for your email.
I too am disappointed the 08:06 service arrived into Paddington 4 minutes
late, especially after such a good run over the past few days. Please
accept my apologies.
A two minute delay loading bikes on an earlier service was the root cause
of the delay to your train. This had a knock on effect on the running of
others and the end result was congestion on the already very busy stretch
of line between Reading and Paddington at peak time.
It can only take a minute for delays to escalate, which is why it is so
important for us to get this right. We are focused on minimising delays at
stations and are working with our station teams to ensure customers with
bicycles know where to stand on the platform for loading them onto the
train.
I hope you have a good weekend.
Kind regards
Sue
Thursday, 11 August 2011
11 August 2011. Letter 16.
Dear Mark and Sue
Re: 08.06 FGW service from Oxford to Paddington, 11/8/11. Amount of my day wasted: five minutes.
Mark! Sue! Wake up! It's a beautiful morning! Not beautiful in the conventional sense, obviously, in the "bright, sunny, warm" sense. But, you know, it is morning, at least. It's the start of another day in England, and that's not a bad place to begin, is it?
Me and you and you too, Sue: we're young (ish), we're beautiful (ish), we're clever... what's not to celebrate? Let's get up and get at 'em! Let's go to work! Let's not be late for work... oh.
We were doing alright this week, too, weren't we, Mark? (Mark - I know you're on holiday, but I'm still including you here. It seems rude not to. And besides: you'll have your Blackberry, won't you? You'll still be connected. Even supine on a sunlounger, cradling a sangria or kicking back with a San Miguel, I don't doubt for a second that you'll still be getting service updates. I wouldn't expect less!)
As I was saying, we were doing okay this week. We hadn't had a delay for at least a couple of days, had we? I woke up this morning and despite the rain, despite the wind, despite the chill of Autumn in the air, I felt optimistic. I totally did! I felt like we'd turned a corner. Together. All of us, hand in hand in hand (I believe it's called a "crocodile", in pre-school parlance).
And to be fair Mark, to give you your dues, Sue, the delay was only five minutes this morning. It wasn't anything spectacular. It wasn't much to shout about.
But, as Take That so memorably and effectively pointed out, it only takes a minute, Sue, to fall in love. And according to what we shall henceforth refer to as The Barlow Standard, that means that those seemingly-unremarkable 300 seconds could conceivably have resulted in a boy like myself falling in love five times.
Five times! If love is an endless afternoon (and it is, Sue! Oh! It is!) then falling in love five times on one train journey... why that's an eternity of bliss! I cast my eyes around that train carriage, Mark: as we dawdled and dallied, I scoped out and sized up my new potential sweethearts. Five of them! A fistful of loving!
Sadly, Sue, I have to report that I didn't fall in love. Not once. In fact, from my cursory inspection at least, most of the love-interest candidates on the train this morning would have had to fall into the "personality over looks" camp.
Don't get me wrong - that's (kind of) fine. I'm no great swaggering Clooney myself, Sue, as you well know. But I kind of figure that if I'm going to subscribe to The Barlow Standard and fall in love with five girls on one train journey, I'd like at least, say, three of them to be lookers. That sounds fair, doesn't it?
Alas, another disappointment. And the day started so well!
Still - there's always tomorrow, right? And who knows how many minutes you'll be granting me to fall in love with then? I can hardly wait!
Au revoir!
Dom
Re: 08.06 FGW service from Oxford to Paddington, 11/8/11. Amount of my day wasted: five minutes.
Mark! Sue! Wake up! It's a beautiful morning! Not beautiful in the conventional sense, obviously, in the "bright, sunny, warm" sense. But, you know, it is morning, at least. It's the start of another day in England, and that's not a bad place to begin, is it?
Me and you and you too, Sue: we're young (ish), we're beautiful (ish), we're clever... what's not to celebrate? Let's get up and get at 'em! Let's go to work! Let's not be late for work... oh.
We were doing alright this week, too, weren't we, Mark? (Mark - I know you're on holiday, but I'm still including you here. It seems rude not to. And besides: you'll have your Blackberry, won't you? You'll still be connected. Even supine on a sunlounger, cradling a sangria or kicking back with a San Miguel, I don't doubt for a second that you'll still be getting service updates. I wouldn't expect less!)
As I was saying, we were doing okay this week. We hadn't had a delay for at least a couple of days, had we? I woke up this morning and despite the rain, despite the wind, despite the chill of Autumn in the air, I felt optimistic. I totally did! I felt like we'd turned a corner. Together. All of us, hand in hand in hand (I believe it's called a "crocodile", in pre-school parlance).
And to be fair Mark, to give you your dues, Sue, the delay was only five minutes this morning. It wasn't anything spectacular. It wasn't much to shout about.
But, as Take That so memorably and effectively pointed out, it only takes a minute, Sue, to fall in love. And according to what we shall henceforth refer to as The Barlow Standard, that means that those seemingly-unremarkable 300 seconds could conceivably have resulted in a boy like myself falling in love five times.
Five times! If love is an endless afternoon (and it is, Sue! Oh! It is!) then falling in love five times on one train journey... why that's an eternity of bliss! I cast my eyes around that train carriage, Mark: as we dawdled and dallied, I scoped out and sized up my new potential sweethearts. Five of them! A fistful of loving!
Sadly, Sue, I have to report that I didn't fall in love. Not once. In fact, from my cursory inspection at least, most of the love-interest candidates on the train this morning would have had to fall into the "personality over looks" camp.
Don't get me wrong - that's (kind of) fine. I'm no great swaggering Clooney myself, Sue, as you well know. But I kind of figure that if I'm going to subscribe to The Barlow Standard and fall in love with five girls on one train journey, I'd like at least, say, three of them to be lookers. That sounds fair, doesn't it?
Alas, another disappointment. And the day started so well!
Still - there's always tomorrow, right? And who knows how many minutes you'll be granting me to fall in love with then? I can hardly wait!
Au revoir!
Dom
Another reply from Ms Sue Evans!
She's more concise than Mark, that's for sure. More economic in her communicating style...
Dear Dom
Thanks for your email this morning.
Your delay last night was caused by the failure of Sandy Lane level crossing between Oxford and Banbury, which caused congestion in the area. The barriers were stuck in a lowered position, but cars were driving around them so, as you can imagine, our priority was to keep customers safe.
It's really not unreasonable for you to expect us to run to time and running a right time railway is exactly what we wish to achieve. Unfortunately, problems like this do crop up and I'm sorry about the effect this had on your journey.
I too hope things calm down in London tonight. It's a very sad and difficult situation, and I hope you stay safe.
Kind regards
Sue
Dear Dom
Thanks for your email this morning.
Your delay last night was caused by the failure of Sandy Lane level crossing between Oxford and Banbury, which caused congestion in the area. The barriers were stuck in a lowered position, but cars were driving around them so, as you can imagine, our priority was to keep customers safe.
It's really not unreasonable for you to expect us to run to time and running a right time railway is exactly what we wish to achieve. Unfortunately, problems like this do crop up and I'm sorry about the effect this had on your journey.
I too hope things calm down in London tonight. It's a very sad and difficult situation, and I hope you stay safe.
Kind regards
Sue
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