On travelling by train
Every now and then, I find myself travelling up to London for work.
Having trawled through the arcane ticket-booking website in which you need to click "BUY TICKETS" buttons on no less than four occasions, I eventually find myself in possession of both tickets to ride, but also seat reservations so that I may travel on a rush hour train to London in relative comfort.
Seat reservations are one thing, but the reality is somewhat more brutal.
By the time the 0730 to Paddington has arrived at Reading, I have darted from one end of the platform to the other to find Coach B, and am already at the back of the seething mass of humanity trying to board the packed train.
Then, squeezing down the aisle toward seat 47B to the sighs and stares of standing passengers, I discover the worst: My seat is already taken.
"Excuse me – I have a reservation for that seat," I say to the suited bastard, his Blackberry, Mac and Costa Coffee already laid out before him.
"And what are you going to do about it?" he said, possession being nine-tenths of the law.
Here's what I did about it: I stood for half-an-hour, reading a copy of Metro, farting in his face all the way to London.
WIN, snatched from the very jaws of FAIL, I am sure you will agree.