said the Guard, putting his head in at the window. In a moment everybody was holding out a ticket [...] 'Now then! Show your ticket, child!' the Guard went on, looking angrily at Alice. And a great many voices all said together [...] 'Don't keep him waiting, child!'"
Immersed in the eloquent sounds of Rammstein and Joo/aap F/Vis/scher I will endeavour to communicate my Londinial experiences to you, within one night, one hebdomadal entry, and before I fall asleep. On top of that I crave for a drink (my last bottle of wine has been finished during a post-film dinner last week, and the last beer I had was - that's right - on thursday, which seems a very long time from now. Is it possible to develop an alcohol addiction in abstinence? Or perhaps, that is precisely the moment at which it is discovered (as with another one of my newly-acquired addictions, apparantly)? Let's see how long I will keep up this evening's insane task without that light ethanol-delirium that is capable of brightening up even the dullest paper-writing sessions. But please don't worry (m&d in particular): I'm still a sensible person (a
verstandige meid. Besides, I have to work on my (self)image as DD (dronken dichter). So please don't take me more seriously than i do!
Dus. Where to start?
Right; the Adventure of the First Great Western Ticket Fraud. It all started with a frustrated girl in front of a study-bedroom laptop, trying to figure out the cheapest way to get to London by train (though next time I will definitely go by coach...). Don't follow her example: even greater crimes than the one related here would inevitably be committed.
The one thing I got from my electronic wanders was that it was probably best to get an Apex-ticket, to be purchased at least seven days in advance; but I had already been able to read that in a leaflet found at the station, just like I also knew that I would have liked a seat on friday's 17:00 train to Waterloo (which turned out to be Paddington), and another one back to Exeter around monday 14:00. With which information I approached the "queue on this end" sign of the "advance purchase desk" of the Great Western Trains Company Ltd. at Exeter St David's Station. The information of my request, so lucid to me (out on friday evening, back monday afternoon), could but with difficulty be processed by the officer on duty. The five o'clock train seemed to be unaivalable for some mysterious reason (turning out to be the reluctance to take little-paying students on board). Waiting for more information from the seller I was silent for a while, but finally decided to ask the poor man whether he might have any alternative options in store. Of course he had: at 10 in the morning. I asked whether he didn't have anything closer approaching the evening (I had class until 4). But sure he had: around 7pm. He said. At least, that's what I understood. So I asked for a return on monday, and whether it was absolutely necessary to state the exact
return time in advance as well. Now the poor man sighed at so much ignorance. Of course I must: what else was it an Apex-ticket for?! (I didn't dare to ask where exactly in the four letters A P E X,
or the leaflet, I could find that information.) With my last bit of nerve I whispered whether he might have any trains on monday afternoon? Much typing and scribbling followed. I was presented with a bill of 26.50 and was dismissed. It was only outside the station that I dared to look at the two small blue cards clenched in my fist. RTN 171005 1030 PAD EXD E23A 1319. OUT 141005 1156 EXD PAD C22B. Shit. That did not only mean I had to leave London already in the morning, but it meant my train to London left more than three hours before the start of my (not to be missed) seminar. What to do? Go back? Never. Does it matter whether the reason was that I was too much afraid of ridicule, too certain that it would make no difference anyway, or too headstrong to give in? (Maybe it does matter, but) I had a Cunning Plan.
The time, 11:56, had only hastily been written down, using an ordinary ballpoint. I saw the poor man's 1 slightly resembled his 9. And I discovered that an Apex-train left Exeter at 19:46. By now you must have got the idea: back home, I found a similar black ballpoint and added a small circle to the 11's second figure. I now had a valid ticket for the following non-existent train: Exeter 19:56 to Paddington 14:36. But a story about a dyslectic ticket desk officer would quickly be invented if circumstances would call for it.
Slightly nervous (and slightly late) I boarded the train that left 10 minutes before the imaginary train I had a ticket for. I assumed defensive position when the guards approached. I held my breath... nothing happened. They did not even look at the times mentioned on my ticket.
So much for my train Adventures.
Some notes on the further trip:
- as a law, British families eat embarrasingly much - and unhealthy - in trains;
- British train companies appear to be more afraid of crashes than Dutch flight companies are ("in the unlikely case of an emergency...");
- legspace is less, dirt more and coat pegs absent;
- on my way out I sat opposite the first two Black Persons of Exeter that were not engaged in clearing up Other People's (or Self People's? - a note for the (post-)structuralists among us) mess on the streets...
... and a psychoanalytical note: I believe the fear of not being able to show a valid ticket is a deep and universal one - see also Alice. I have often dreamt of it (you too?). But by now I have also often lived it - and until now nothing devastating has happened.
