Public transport, my arse

Really, it's no wonder that everyone travels by car in this country. Public transport, unless you live in London, is hopeless. It's all very well for the government to try and price us out of driving but it's not like the alternatives are either viable or affordable. Take the trains, for instance. Great Western Trains run what is alleged to be a service to my nearest station, Cholsey. Yesterday they once again proved themselves to be about as much use as tits on a bull.

There I was freezing my bollocks off at Reading station, having left the pub at 23.10. I was waiting interminably for the 23:48 train home, which was already the subject of two revised departure times, when without explanation it was announced as cancelled. 15 minutes late it was by this time. We were then casually told we'd have to wait for the 00:40 train instead. Fantastic. By the time it showed up I'd spent an hour and a half waiting with the temperature gauge displaying a big fat zero. Got home at 1:10. Two hours to go fifteen miles. Lovely.

The only entertainment on offer was a bloke at the station singing "Vera" over and over and even he was long gone by the time the 00:40 showed up. "Vera"? Yes, "Vera". The Pink Floyd song, one of the most obscure tracks on The Wall. An interesting choice, you have to concede. Quite what led him to that, I have no idea, since his girlfriend's name appeared to be Alison. But I had to applaud the selection. It wasn't, you know, Steps or something equally banal.