I REGRET to announce that I have travelled in the first-class compartment of a train. The incident occurred on the way to that Glasgow for an evening wedding reception.
It was the rush-hour, and the Burd and I were in our gladrags. We should hav
e planned things better, maybe taking the car through and staying in a hotel for the night. But we didn't, and were travelling during the rush-hour on a Monday.
We'd looked at the first-class ticket prices already, and had gasped audibly at the mark-up. I think the 50-minute trip cost us about 60 notes in the end. The Burd wasn't keen on principle. I dislike these class divisions too, but then I abhor public transport generally, because I do not approve of other people. It's not socio-economic bias. I'd hate to be trapped in a carriage with toffs or neds equally.
No, the main class division I always notice is between me and everyone else. Other people talk too loudly, or stare ignorantly, or smell peculiar. Some are bald. Often, passengers try to bag two seats, placing their possessions on the one next to them. They'd rather make someone stand than have them sit beside them. Thus humanity today.
In many other respects, though, I enjoy train travel. I like watching the passing countryside, long since butchered to make way for the train from which I am now viewing the remains. Hypocrisy makes the world go round, you know. Also, on the train, you don't have to negotiate aggressive cyclists and rude drivers, who make car-trips less pleasurable than of yore.
But other aspects of train travel do not appeal. Progress means you can no longer open a window, which often used to lead to fights between people who enjoyed breathing and the modern set reared in stuffy, over-heated homes. Then there are the endless announcements enunciated inaudibly by people who did badly at school. You can tell they hate doing it and can picture their forefinger moving along the words as they read.
Be that as it may, we had to go by train. Alcoholic lubrication was anticipated so we couldn't drive, though the Burd, as usual, ended up having only the merest of noggins. We took a taxi to the station and had barely decanted ourselves when a bald trendy smirked. We live in tittering times. When I still had longish hair, I used to get a lot of that from those who'd moved ruthlessly with the mode, shaving their heads and wearing knee-length shorts. It's how fashion is enforced.
This tittering baldie at the station made up my mind – we were travelling first-class. Let me state in clear, scientific terms my findings from the experience: it was rubbish. As the Burd said, the only bang you got for your buck was a light on the table. The aforementioned table was manky, and the compartment was right at the back of the long train, which meant we'd the furthest to walk down the platform at our destination. There were only four lots of seats: a table for four and a table for two; plus two seats together and one on its own. At first, I'd hoped we'd have the compartment to ourselves. Fat chance in this crowded age. Every seat, bar one, was taken. A wealthy lawyer pal later told us she often had to stand in the first-class compartment. How farcical is that?
In our compartment sat three suited business types who, in a surprise development, weren't too obnoxious. Two were Irish, and that's generally a good thing. There were two casually dressed American tourists, the male having a big characterful head and a shock of silver hair so typical of the breed. And there was one normal-looking woman on her tod.
To be truthful, I'd actually travelled first-class before, but can't remember why. It was several years ago, but I recall someone came round with a trolley offering free refreshments. On this occasion, nothing came. True, we were kept away from the ignorant mob but, apart from that, travelling first-class offered eff-all.
On the way home, the last train at 11:30pm was nearly empty. We'd been warned it would be full of drunks, which was another reason for travelling first-class in our gladrags. I took the warning seriously as, often, I had been one of these drunks. But, on this Monday night, there were only a few gently dozing tipplers and one woman who briefly burst into song before subsiding into bovine-faced apathy.
We were the only ones in the compartment, barring an off-duty guard who sat and read his tabloid newspaper, thus lowering the tone even further. Again, no complimentary refreshments arrived. Next time, we will travel with the people. They may be irritating, but at least they're cheap.
The full article contains 832 words and appears in The Scotsman newspaper.
