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Here we go again.
It's 19:54 and the train has barely moved past Sevenoaks, due to disruption on the line apparently.
A younger, sparkier version of me would resort to verse or florid prose, but after six years of overcrowded, smelly, late trains I'm almost beaten into submission.
In the next year, I'll spend nearly £6k of my take home salary, not to mention nearly one thousand hours of my life on a train with inadequate knee room for anyone over 5' 6", air conditioning that doesn't function in the summer, electrical pickups that don't function in the winter and wheels that can't cope with Autumn or Spring.
The staff seem to have given up any pretence of sympathy, can't say I blame them as they have to work on these nasty, spiteful pieces of railway technology.
There is some good news though. It appears the toilet in my carriage has been cleaned in the last week, so I can almost forgive the tap for having long run out of water to dispense.
In January, I look forward to another inflation busting ticket hike, my Tory MP doesn't care as he probably commutes by swan drawn carriage or something. The media makes a lighthearted poke of fun of it, as if British public transport is some kind of cultural in-joke, along the lines of chimney sweeps, terrible cuisine and expensive but rubbish beige cars that used to fall apart while you watched. Every year, there's a teeny bit more bad news to swallow, from extra stops being sneaked in to the trolley service being removed. It's almost as if we're being prodded towards the slightly more punctual, but even more outrageously expensive High Speed like the obstinate cattle that we are.
So, I gamely acknowledge to Southeastern that you've won, whatever dodge you've contrived to ensure you hang on to your franchise by fiddling punctuality and customer satisfaction surveys seems to have worked. You'll forever be 0.02% above whatever threshold determines how long you keep separating your captive market from obscene amounts of money. Well done, you've truly found the gravy train and I begrudgingly salute you.
On the off-chance I qualify for £3.37 from the oh so amusing Delay Repay scheme, I respectfully ask that it's given to a random homeless person at Charing Cross, desperate for a hot meal. I realise that endlessly bitching about being able to stump up almost £6k a year to piss away on trains is even more of an insult to them as it is to me.
I hope that the executives at Southeastern enjoy the coke and hookers I'm helping to fund, because it sure as heck isn't being spent on new trains, passenger comfort or punctuality.
