Today I type from a delayed Scotrail train to Oban. A three hour trip through beautiful scenery. With me are Josie and Ronnie, my parents in law as I chaperone them to Oban and then onto Craignure on the Isle of Mull via Calmac ferry the Isle of Mull. At platform 4 Queen Street, Glasgow the Scotrail people could not connect the two trains together that form the service and we are now over 20 minutes late, with a potential arrival time of 3.54pm into Oban and the ferry 3.55pm. Sat at the very front of the train I can hear it labour as it chases time itself.
I travelled up yesterday from Dukinfield using the very excellent National Express service for Glasgow that calls into Hamilton. Long gone are the lyrical days of the using a service where you could both hide from, and see life.
Take the National Express when your life's in a mess
It'll make you smile
All human life is here
From the feeble old dear to the screaming child
From the student who knows that to have one of those
Would be suicide
To the family man
Manhandling the pram with paternal pride
And everybody sings, "Ba-ba-ba-da"
We're going where the air is free
National Express by the Divine Comedy - Verse 1 - Released 25th January 1999
My life was a mess but is no longer a mess, and I was happy to see both Josie and Ronnie, catch up on sleep in their comfortable house, with today being our journey from Queen Street via train to Oban, Josie deciding and preferring a taxi with a cheerfully pleasant driver. making the station with time to drink lovely coffee (Danish pastry and tart for me) in kaffateria opposite the station. And highly recommended for its coffee.
All fine and we mosied over to the estimated platform 4, which was where I departed from last time I was off to Mull. Now last time there was a problem, and as fate would have it the same problem occurred again. The difference being I was armed with two Scottish pensioners. Very simply the train is made of two parts. And at Crianlarich it splits into a Oban train and a Mallaig train, with the Oban section being the front of the train, normally four carriages, out of Queen Street. Last time they could not connect the train and everyone piled onto the Mallaig train after watching the Oban section sneak out of Queen Street having failed to couple to its mate. Same again, and we watched as our train, our seat reservations, fuck off into the dark tunnel. Sharp walk to other train, looking through windows for those unreserved table seats.
Now I must admit it was better than last time, which was Saturday, hot weather, and a platform knee deep in people, tourists, cyclists. Back then I’d managed to bag a seat opposite a dog named Snoop.