3 different things went wrong actually. First, a new boss-type person dropped in for a chat in my crucial last 15 minutes of work day. These are the minutes in which I DO stuff. Like work, important emails, make-up etc. but he was a new boss man and he wanted to know All about my team, and one had to impress him. I stepped up.
When I eventually got to Victoria Station, running 20 minutes late, already huffing and panting, (I’d started trotting at Café Hamlet and when I looked at the time on Little Ben, I shoved 2 big sardarjis with big suitcases out of my way and got into the Underground.); when I got to Victoria station, however, my Oyster wouldn’t work. As the placid turnstile flashed ‘seek assistance’ redly at me, my brain wasted precious seconds computing that I hadn’t enough cash on pre-pay. Now this never happens. Mostly because I rarely use pre-pay and always get a 7 day travel card for unlimited Oyster-ing in zones 1 and 2. gah, too late I realised I’d tried to be economically efficient and topped up only 5 quid and not bought a pass this week, as I was going to be away all weekend! clever huh…
A mad dash to the Oyster machine, where miraculously, the queing throngs had left one machine q-free. Possibly because it says no change or cards only something confounding like that. God bless tourists in Westminster. 5 more quid went on the little blue plastic wizard, and I was free to hustle the bustling throngs to get to the bottom of the escalator and the Northbound platform.
Another thing went wrong here, but I don’t know if it merits 3rd wrong thing status. Let’s call it half a thing. My right shoelace was dangerously dangling all the while I was on the escalator. It was no mean feat to count steps and swing my foot each time at exactly the right distance away from the metal cracks (jaws, traps), all the while hurtling down a full escalator with no hand free.
Well. Caught the tube and amazingly, Victoria line does take 2 minutes between stations! Arrived at Euston, tumbled up more escalators somehow (I had covertly tied the errant shoelace while on the tube) and sprinted away to find the ticket collection machines. Realised first, that my train was ‘now boarding’ at platform 14, and I had exactly 6 minutes to get on it. Right. Pre-paid ticket collection machines then. I insert my card in the machine, and everything shudders to a halt.
- Cannot find any information, the machine tells me, flashing all sorts of debit card logos at me, except mine (which is Solo). Did I Imagine shelling out 100 quid for my ticket then? – I don’t even have time to think the whole thought. A man in a window – “The machine… won’t… 2 minutes...” I pant. “Of course, love”, he cheerily informs me, “We don’t accept Solo here”. BUT THEY ALREADY TOOK MY MONEY! Quite at the end of my tether, I hand him my booking print out. He blinks at it like an owl and compares the last 4 digits on my card with the numbers on paper. “Look Bob, they do Solo on National Express”. Charming camaraderie… too tired to wring his neck, I ask through gritted teeth, “What happens if I miss the train?” I think he understands this language, perhaps having suffered more arrogant late lateefs than even his white hairs betray. Quickly he slaps my card (Solo) and 2 tickets (magical, orange Edinburgh tickets) into my hand and says “Go!”
There isn’t even time to fully appreciate that I have newly developed peripheral vision (I suffer from acute tunnel vision normally). I’ve subconsciously spotted the signage for my platform, as I make another, last dash down a concrete ramp for my waiting, vibrating train. A quick glance at the destination marker (having learnt from experience in Europe); reassured, I jump on-board and quickly find a seat next to a helpless lass and her 2 companions who look up from knitting and Umberto Eco, in horror at the sight of the voluptuous foreigner covered in sweat. I slide (sic) into my seat and the train departs for Edinburgh.
I hope the weekend will be worth it. In any case, I’m very glad I chose my sturdy trainers over strappy sandals today.
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