First Late Western

On yer bike...or not as the case may be!

noreply@blogger.com (Economy Klaus) — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 14:32:00 +0000

Oh dear, looks like the Government's attempts to develop a more joined-up national transport infrastructure is about to get another kick in the teeth from First Great Western.

On the Friday before the bank holiday weekend, I skipped onto the platform in my usual upbeat manner to find a couple of annoyed cyclists berating a member of station staff. The reason? A poster had been put up telling the cyclists that, for peak hour London trains, they will now have to make a reservation for their bike!

Not unexpectedly, the cyclists were pretty furious - in part because they believed that First Great Western had very deliberately chosen one of the quietest travel days of the year on which to put up the poster in order to prevent a mob of angry cyclists from venting their spleen.

I suspect that many cyclists are not going to be happy about this - and I don't blame them one little bit.

Another website cock-up

noreply@blogger.com (Economy Klaus) — Fri, 01 Aug 2008 13:59:00 +0000

Oh you're gonna love this: a wonderful example of First Great Western arse-about-face-ness at its best.

Went to the FGW website today to check out whether they were running any special offers on tickets I hadn't heard about. This often happens - they bang out an offer without actually telling anyone, probably so none of us can actually take them up on it.

Anyway, to my surprise, lurking under the special offers section of the site was a new entry: your exclusive first class ticket upgrade. Ding dong, I thought. But was this just the old up grade scheme for season ticket holders that ended on 6 July? Apparently not because when I got to the page in question, at its foot it said: closing date 29 August. A new offer!

Suitable impressed, I filled in the details and then clicked through the pages to get to my voucher. But hey, what's this? The voucher said offer valid until 6 July. Huh?

Baffled, I phone FGW's customer service and asked them which date was correct and which wasn't. The very pleasant customer call person sounded suitably puzzled then said she needed to speak to a colleague before she returned with the zen-like mystic comment: "Well, they're both wrong and right."

It then transpires that FGW is about to announce another first class upgrade scheme for August but hasn't got around to telling anyone yet, and has sort-of tweaked its website - but not properly.

"You're the first person who's spotted it," the customer lady told me.

Yes, I thought, but I bet not the last.

So folks, keep an eye on this page here because I'm told this will soon become a new offer valid during August. Chin chin.

That pregnant pause

noreply@blogger.com (Economy Klaus) — Tue, 29 Jul 2008 19:47:00 +0000

Giving up my seat is always something I do reluctantly - particularly when I've only just got on the train and I'm facing a good hour or more standing wedged in a noisy vestibule. These days I've grown hardened to overcrowded trains so it has to be someone pretty special to make me want to stand up and say those magic words: "Here, have my seat."

Pregnant women are always a tricky group. I remember the aggro my wife went through when pregnant commuting in and out of London when we lived there so I always feel sympathetic towards any woman forced to stand who's clearly up the Hilary Duff. But on the flip side, part of me thinks: if I can just avoid making eye contact with them, maybe someone else will give up their seat...maybe someone else will do the gentlemanly thing. No chance of that today, though.

Caught the 9.25am Chippenham-Paddington, the first cheapo service of the day. The platform at Chippenham was packed with families wanting to take a leisurely rail trip up to London with the kids - more fool them! Don't they know what it's like on First Great Western? - but when we all clambered aboard, it emerged pretty quickly in the chaotic melee that FGW had pulled its increasingly regular trick of failing to put out the seat reservations. The poor old families with their two or three little kids found their seats filled and grumpy commuter types unwilling to move.

Mental note: never take the kids on the train unless you really REALLY have to. It's never fun and it's never easy. Whatever FGW's summery advertising campaign says about jolly trips around the country, it's going to be like a cattle truck to Belsen. You have been warned.

Anyway, I managed to find a seat and settled down with the old laptop to do a spot of work when, on the periphery of my vision, I spotted the pregnant woman waddling towards me hunting for a seat.

But not just any pregnant women - she was super pregnant woman. In fact, it would have been harder to design a women better able to tug at the heart strings of a hardened First Great Western commuter. Not only was she pregnant but...she was holding a small baby in one arm and...wait for it...her other arm was just a stump! Yep, she seemed to have lost one arm from the elbow down and was desperately cradling a kid in the other.

Lord oh lordie, how could I refuse?

"Have my seat," I said magnanimously, then retreated to the vestibule to complete my journey in a petulant silence. Yep, that's about as pregnant as it gets...apart from actually having the baby in the carriage.

PS I used to work with a woman who made a point of standing on the London Underground and sticking her stomach out so that she looked pregnant in order to get a seat.

I quote the words of Jimmy Carr on the subject: "I'd rather see a pregnant woman standing up than a fat woman sitting down crying."

Trapped in the reservation limbo

noreply@blogger.com (Economy Klaus) — Wed, 23 Jul 2008 12:44:00 +0000

Following power car problems yesterday, had a reasonable trip up this morning marred only by one issue that seems to be occuring rather a lot recently: the failure to print off the seat-back reservations.

My big grievance with this is that it leaves passengers in a bit of a limbo having no idea what to do. And it's not helped by the fact that I've never heard a train manager clarify the situation. Let me give you an example.

Today's train manager, Steve, delivered a very lengthy announcement at each stop, which was full of apologies but did nothing to help passengers. He said - and I'm using his words as closely as I can remember them - that passengers with seats should be 'accommodating' if approached by a fellow passenger with a reservation for that seat; and that passengers with reservation should be 'mindful' that the person sitting in their allocated seat wasn't aware that it was reserved.

That's all fine, but the question is...WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN? Have I got a reservation or not? If I'm sitting down and some guy comes up waving a reservation at me, can I tell him to take a running jump or not?

Why, oh why don't train managers cut to the chase and simply tell us whether the reservations are valid or not? That's what everybody wants to know.

Apologising for the lack of them is fine, but it doesn't provide the specific bit of information every passenger is waiting for.

In my two and a half years of daily commuting, I've been on lots of trains on which the reservations have not been placed, and heard lots of train manager announcements - but none of them every say 'Yes, the reservations are still valid' or 'No, they're not'. Instead it's left to passengers to somehow muddle through, having to make up the rules as they go. Asking us to be 'mindful' and 'accommodating' sounds lovely but just creates utter confusion. On the flip side, it means that the train manager doesn't really have to deal with the issue - unless a couple of customers come to fisticuffs.

So train managers, please, if there are no reservations on the seats, can you make it clear whether reservations are valid or not. That would save us all a lot of aggro and, frankly, make the journey more enjoyable.

PS I was also fascinated by Steve's request this morning for all rail personnel with passes to give up their seats because of overcrowding - which he reminded them was a privilege, not a right - but this didn't apply to retired personnel or their dependents, who could keep their seats. Nice. Didn't make a jot of difference, though. No one gave up their seats to any fare paying passengers as usual. Que sera sera.

Exclusive peak at FGW remake of The Railway Children

noreply@blogger.com (Economy Klaus) — Wed, 16 Jul 2008 20:40:00 +0000

Word reaches me that, in an attempt to improve its image and public profile, First Great Western is to back a remake of the classic 1970 film The Railway Children based on Edith Nesbit’s novel of the same name. (Ooo, that Jenny Agutter!)

Anyway, having trawled the darker reaches of the internet and been in touch with a number of sources in Hollywood, I’ve been able to snatch a glimpse of the FGW version of the script. While I’m unable to reproduce it in full for copyright reasons, I can now present to you my exclusive summary. So here goes…

The Railway Children, as retold by First Great Western

Set in contemporary England, a middle class family from London with three children – Roberta, Phyllis and Mix Master P-J of the Streatham Massive, their knife toting brother – must relocate to the bleak Yorkshire Moors following the imprisonment of their father for emailing Gardeners’ Question Time about bulk purchases of fertilizer.

Once in their new home, they discover the local train station, where they start hanging about a bit. It is an unmanned station with just a speaking ticket machine (voiced by Bernard Cribbins) which says dryly amusing Yorkshire homilies like “Will you be paying by card or cash?” By day the station is a dumping ground for overweight people and community care types; by night it is home to gangs of drunks and hoodies. P-J falls in with the wrong crowd, attempts to steal a urinal to burn on the fire at home, is arrested and given an ASBO banning him from appearing in the rest of the film.

Several whizzo adventures then befall Roberta and Phyllis. They save a boy on a school paper chase who gets stuck in a tunnel and is the cause of all peak hour services being delayed for two hours. Ye Olde Yorkshire Train Operating Company then issues a statement blaming Network Rail for late running. (Geddit?)

They witness a freak landslide which sends a tree and some earth crashing onto the track. Although the two girls are able to stop the approaching train by pretending to be school children trespassing on the rails, the track is shut for a month and commuters have to travel via donkey.

Next, a sickly foreign gentleman is found collapsed at the station. Roberta and Phyllis phone the border police and have him arrested as an illegal immigrant.

Finally, the emotional climax of the film: the Old Gentleman tells Roberta to be at the station to meet a particular train. What Roberta does not realize is that her father has been released from jail due to overcrowding and is travelling to join his family. However, things go awry. Unable to afford the extortionate fare, he travels without a ticket and is thrown off the train by revenue protection officers. When he is finally able to raise the necessary money by selling a kidney, the train fails to stop at his station due to signaling problems and strands him in Bristol where he dies after eating a mini Melton Mowbray pork pie from the station café.

In her anguish at the news of his death, Roberta loses the will to live so becomes a customer host on First Great Western. She ends the film sobbing over the tannoy as she announces happy hour prices in the buffet, then takes her own life by choking on a breakfast bap. The End.

Wow! Sounds like a classic to me, boys and girls. Popcorn anyone?

A quick update

noreply@blogger.com (Economy Klaus) — Tue, 15 Jul 2008 15:40:00 +0000

Here's a handy aide memoire on a number of issues I'm keeping track of at the moment:

1. It's mid-July and still no new car park ticket machines at Chippenham, a full seven months after the signs went up to say we were going to have them. What on earth are they doing?

2. Still no picture of melodiously named Sheridan Flavin, FGW's HR director, on the Meet our Executive Team page of the FGW website. Why? I suspect she's a bit of a looker and am keen to find out. Does anyone have a pic of Ms Flavin or can you direct me towards one? First Great Western commuters have a right to know.

On that note, I'm considering holding a 'Who is the most unfortunate-looking member of the First Great Western executive team?' poll. My nomination will depend on finding out whether James Burt's picture has been squeezed or he really looks like that!(See picture above.)

3. The first class upgrade offer ended 6 July but I barely noticed this time, so stringent had the conditions been. I think I only managed to get an upgrade about three times. Hardly worth bothering with.

Pick of the week

noreply@blogger.com (Economy Klaus) — Mon, 14 Jul 2008 15:27:00 +0000

Nose pickers – essentially there are two types: the self-conscious and the unselfconscious. I’m one of the former – just a crafty poke about now and then when I think no one’s looking. But this morning I encountered one of the unselfconscious types, and, boy, was he ever brazen about it, apparently totally uncaring about the eyes of his fellow commuters..

It was on the Hammersmith and City line tube. Ginger, 20-something, jeans and an odd checked jacket. He was standing just inside the doorway leaning against the partition – prime spot, that – and was reading Metro while burying his finger in his nostril up to his second knuckle. The woman opposite could barely believe what she was seeing. So distracted was she by this no holds barred performance of bogey ferreting that she was unable to read her hardback novel. Instead, she stared, horrified, at the picker and then looked around the carriage, trying to spot if anyone else was as awe-struck as she was by the blatant display of social ineptitude.

But then things got worse. Having pursued some ripe booger with the tip of his index finger for a while, he hooked it and withdrew it in order to examine it, holding it up proudly for the commuters to see. Then, without a moment’s hesitation, he slipped his finger between his lips and begun to chomp on this delightful piece of low hanging nasal fruit.

The woman opposite him almost gagged and had to turn away. He munched on, oblivious to all and sundry…and then went looking for dessert.

Promises, promises...

noreply@blogger.com (Economy Klaus) — Wed, 09 Jul 2008 19:20:00 +0000

Nothing worse than a broken promise, is there - particularly when it's First Great Western doing the breaking. You may recall that last week I had the horrendous three hour trip on the train that got stuck behind the broken down one. (If you missed this exciting installment, you can catch up on it here.) But anyway, this was the night the train manager was forced to do the Walk of Shame (First Great Western Walk of Shame is now © copyright Economy Klaus 2008) and promised all and sundry compensation.

All of us? Surely not, I thought. So I had sought clarification: "What about if you're a season ticket holder?"

Train manager: "Yes, if you contact First Great Western customer services."...which I duly did, having spoken to someone on the phone who'd told me that a goodwill payment would be considered.

Considered and rejected, that is. Extract from letter as follows:

"Blah blah blah...We do our best to make sure our customers travel safely and arrive on time...blah blah blah...we know that reliability has not been good enough...we have changed the way we plan maintenance and repairs to our fleetl...(EK thinks: Huh? What has any of this to do with my claim?) ...blah blah blah...as a season ticket holder you are entitled to a discount when you renew your ticket...blah blah blah...Apart from the circumstances I have explained...(EK thinks: Ah ha! Now we're getting to the point midway down the second page)...THERE IS NO FURTHER DISCOUNT OR COMPENSATION FOR INDIVIDUAL DELAYS, AND THIS APPLIES TO THE SPECIFIC DELAY ON 1 JULY.

So no wonga, then, for being stuck for three hours on a train while my childminder virtually has one of her own!

All of which begs the question: why did the train manager tell us we'd get compensation? Was it an attempt to quell the angry passengers by telling us we'd be able to make our claim? Or was it a genuine mistake? Or...was the train manager right and are First Great Western customer services wrong? Who knows?

It some respects the answer doesn't really matter because, whichever way you look at it, the service is poor. I certainly hope the train manager wasn't telling a deliberate porky: he's a chap I've seen many times before and he strikes me as earnest and morally upstanding, if not a bumper laugh riot in the morning.

Also, am I right in thinking that FGW customer services must have most of their reply letters in template form so they can just cut and paste in a load of standard paragraphs in an attempt to bore the complainant into a coma before they reach the point at which they actually answer the specific query. (If they are using the template approach, can I suggest just two templates: one bearing the word 'Yes' in 72 point font and the other bearing the word 'No'. That would cut to the chase.)

Anyway, as far as this compensation claim is concerned, it's FGW-1, EK-0. But I live to fight again. (I am losing the will to live because of First Great Western ® is now a registered trademark of Economy Klaus 2008.)

Get yer socks off!

noreply@blogger.com (Economy Klaus) — Fri, 04 Jul 2008 21:04:00 +0000

It wasn't until the train eased out of Didcot heading west that I spotted him. Opposite side of the aisle, facing me, about four rows away. There he was, late 40s; grey hair; rangy build; cheap suit. But it was none of those things which drew my attention. No, it was the fact that his black shoes had been nudged neatly under the seat in front of him and his big feet, clad in nothing but a pair of bobbly black socks were stretched into the aisle, toes flexing rhythmically. Yuk.

Warm, sweaty feet, curling and uncurling like smug cats. Nobody wants that. Nobody wants to be in close proximity to a middle-aged businessman who insists on getting his plates of meat out and displaying them to all and sundry.

I contemplated calling the train manager.

The woman sitting next to the man looked pretty horrified. I could see her sneaking the odd glance as he moved his legs around, the black socks looming closer to her. She decided she wanted to go to the toilet. I couldn't help but wonder if this was a ruse to escape the sock man - to get away from these smelly appendages and sit somewhere else. She said excuse me, stood up; he did likewise. As she edged past him, I'm sure I saw her twist away in revulsion as the socky feet momentarily came too close for comfort. After a few minutes she returned to her seat, smiled nervously and again edged past the nylon horrors.

Now I don't know about you, but after a long day at work my feet stink - so Lord only knows what this guy's feet smelt like. Probably a combination of warm cheese, rancid fish and BO. I recoiled at the thought.

All I can say is that this type of thing should not be allowed on packed train. Getting yer stinky feet out in the middle of a crowed carriage is strictly a no-no; it's something that should only be done in the privacy of one's own home - or the toilet at a push. I don't want to have to breathe in someone else's foot odour. If there's no smoking allowed, then there should be no feet. I'm all for a train manager announcement on the subject:

"Smoking is not permitted on any part of this train. This includes the toilets and the vestibules. Shoes should be worn all times and any display of sweaty feet will result in an on-the-spot fine and removal from the train at the next station." Quite right too.

So gentlemen, keep your shoes on, please. Unless you're sitting in first class, in which case you probably get someone to massage them and give you a quick manicure. Maybe even darn the holes. TTFN.

In which I experience déjà vu and the train manager does the Walk of Shame

noreply@blogger.com (Economy Klaus) — Tue, 01 Jul 2008 21:27:00 +0000

Well, hold the front page! It all went hideously wrong tonight.

Jumped on the 6pm Paddington-Chippenham only to get as far as somewhere just outside Hayes and Harlington a few miles away when we ground to a halt and stayed there for 25 minutes. The PA in our carriage wasn’t working so when the train manager finally came on the blower, 70 people strained forward out of their seats and heard something like this:

Train manager: “Squeakety-squeak squeakety-squeak.”

Passengers: “Huh?”

Train manager: “Squeakety-squeak squeakety-squeaker-squeak.”

Passenger with good hearing: “We’re stuck between a broken-down train and another one.”

Passengers: “Ah…oh dear.” Or words to that effect.

And there we sat for 50 minutes, watching other trains speeding up and down the lines while we baked in the warm evening sunshine and waited for news.

The guy in front of me – wearing a short-sleeved shirt, usually a sign of social ineptitude – kept calling First Great Western’s customer services department and demanding to be put through to various senior managers, all of whom had long ago departed for home.

Finally another tannoy message.

Train manager: “Squeakety-squeak squeakety-squeak.”

Passengers: “Huh?”

Train manager: “Squeakety-squeak squeakety-squeaker-squeak.”

Passenger with good hearing: “We’re going back to Paddington to change tracks and try again.”

Passengers: “Ah…well who’d have thought it.” Or words to that effect.

So we went all the way back to Paddington, sat there for 15 mins with the doors locked, then left on precisely the same track we’d just come in on. It was 7.20pm, a whole hour and 20 minutes since our odyssey-like journey home had begun.

As we crawled through West London, trapped in a huge queue of trains, passenger mood soured rapidly. It was déjà vu all over again – or something like that. “Oo looky,” I shouted to lighten the mood, “There’s Acton Town for the third time tonight!”

The train manager braved the surly mob and did the Walk of Shame – that’s the walk the train manager does up the aisle when things have gone horribly wrong and he or she has to apologise to passengers in person and explain the compensation arrangements. It wasn’t pretty.

“I’ve had enough apologies from First Great Western – they’ve devalued apologies. I want service!”

“So how much compensation do we get on a season ticket. Why don’t you know?”

“How long is the journey going to go on for? What’s our ETA?”

Meanwhile things had turned from bad to worse on the seat-neighbour front. The guy who’d sat next to me, initially a benign elderly foreign man with an interesting knowledge of bridge engineering, was rapidly turning into a cross between Slobodan Milošević and Martin Boorman, treating me to his rabid views on ethnic minorities, political correctness and er…bridge engineering – or at least a peculiarly Nazi school of bridge engineering, I think.

So with Adolf Eichmann in full rant on my right, the man with the short-sleeved shirt in front upped the ante and accused the train manager of gross negligence for failing to have his PA working properly. Mr Short-sleeves suggested, in no uncertain terms, that the train manager should go on a training course to improve his skills.

That did it. The train manager drew himself up to his full and not inconsiderable height and visibly bristled with rage. “Sir, there are some things you can say to me, such as about the PA, which I accept…but that was offensive.”

Heated words followed. To be frank, my sympathies were with the train manager, whom I thought was commendably brave to carry out the Walk of Shame. Sure, Mr Short-Sleeved Shirt had a point, but he went about making it all wrong and came across as frankly unpleasant.

Anyway, we crawled to Reading and then things improved: we went faster and I got a complimentary Coke, packet of nuts and some sort of unidentifiable Danish pastry. (Gosh, how easily I’m bought.) Finally made it back to Chippenham just before 9pm, almost three full hours after we’d set off. That’s cost me an extra £20 in childminding fees and robbed me of most of my evening. But, hey, that’s life on First Great Western. Rest assured I shall be contacting FGW's customer services first thing tomorrow for the compensation we’ve been promised. Will keep you posted.

So we gotta say goodbye for the summer...

noreply@blogger.com (Economy Klaus) — Fri, 27 Jun 2008 13:34:00 +0000

A sombre, subdued mood on the train into London this morning. Why? Because today is the last day on which the 7.05am Chippenham-Paddington will run until 8 September. Yep, my favourite train is now off on its own little summer holiday - being sent back to the sidings for a while because there won't be enough of us to keep it sufficiently populated over the summer months - or at least that's what First Great Western's management is thinking.

Anyway, being Friday, I though I'd pen a brief tribute to this least crowded of peak hour services. I was thinking of basing it on that old song 'Might as well wait until September', which is a pretty accurate description of what will be happening to anyone who turns up this coming Monday morning expecting the service. Or 'Gotta say goodbye for the summer'. But instead I decided it was time for a spot of poetry. So here goes. Ahem...

So farewell then to the 7.05
You were a breath of fresh air, a train with room to breathe
After Swindon this train is fast to Paddington, that was your catchphrase
But now the summer holiday has come
So First Great Western has sent you on yours
Will you send me a postcard?
Having a lovely time in Didcot
Weather good, food ok, carriages having a great time on the beach
See you in September
PS How are you getting on with my mate, the 6.55?
With great difficulty because of the effing crush caused by cancelling you!
Doh

Fin. I thank you.

All aboard the midnight express

noreply@blogger.com (Economy Klaus) — Wed, 25 Jun 2008 21:35:00 +0000

It is the blackest midnight of the soul. It's like dying. One can almost feel the life force being sucked from one's body as one's will to live ebbs away. It is the closest thing in this world to being stranded in a formless limbo - a hellish void in which all of one's desires, one's joys, one's ambitions are systematically stripped away leaving nothing but an all-consuming ennui, a paralysing torpor. It is...the last train home. And I hate it.

And you know what's so strange? The last train home - the train that runs when the rest of the world is asleep and the line is empty - is the slowest effing train of the day! And that was certainly true of last night.

After an enjoyable evening on the town with a work contact, I make it to Paddington for 11.20pm and clamber aboard a fairly empty first class carriage. At least I have my off peak upgrade to look forward to. For a moment my mood lifts...but then it is slammed to the canvas and crushed there.

The train manager makes that most hated of announcements: the replacement bus service from Swindon. Argh! The 12-13 minute journey from Swindon to Chippenham immediately elongates to a 40 minute haul through the back streets of Swindon and a darkened motorway. Not good.

Then the next blow. The train manager again: the service is going to be delayed for 30 minutes before leaving Paddington because some crew are stuck on a delayed incoming service. We haven't even left the station yet and already my journey through the sleeping hinterland of England has grown by an hour! Will I ever get to bed? I've got to get back up at 6am to return to London so it's not looking good.

After 15 minutes, the train manager announces that the staff have arrived but have foregone their break in order to get the train moving. I'm grateful - we all are - but that gratitude soon wains as the train crawls agonisingly slowly to Reading, struck behind another service.

After Reading we virtually grind to a halt. Engineering works. I try to concentrate on reading my novel, but I can't: the frustration is enormous. All the time the delay is getting longer and longer and my chance of getting a half-decent kip is being eroded. As we chug through the darkness, men in bright orange clothing out on the track wave to the driver. It's a surreal sight.

We're approaching Didcot, comes the announcement. No we're not, it transpires. It's a further 10 minutes before we reach the soulless armpit of Oxfordshire and then head off into the night once more. But at least now we're moving at a decent speed. But only as far as Swindon, then it's onto the bus and we wait 10 minutes for the stragglers, the time slipping away. It's now 1.20am and my brain is turning to mush.

We finally reach Chippenham Station just before 2am. I repeat: 2-a-fucking-m. Unbelievable! Then I have to walk over the station bridge right down to the far end of the car park to where my car awaits - a welcome sight.

On the walk I chat to a fellow hapless passenger, a woman. She tells me she's in the music business and often catches the last train. "It's never on time," she tells me. "Every night, something different. Some problem or delay or failure. It's a nightmare."

Literally, I muse to myself. A nightmare.

I make it home at 2.10am and crawl into the spare bed without waking the family. Initially I can't sleep - my mind is whirring - maybe falling into unconsciousness around 2.30am. I wake briefly about four, then am woken at 6.10am by my wife and children getting up.

I get up, shower, drink a cup of tea and then drive back to the station to catch the 7.25am, a zombie whose hopes and dreams still seem to be lost somewhere out there in the endless miles of darkness between Reading and Didcot.

Good news travels fast - well, faster than my train

noreply@blogger.com (Economy Klaus) — Wed, 25 Jun 2008 21:25:00 +0000

Here’s an interesting little example of the strategic timing of announcements. First, we have Network Rail putting out a jolly interesting bit of news that they’re planning a feasibility study of a series of new high speed rail routes to ease congestion and improve Britain’s railways. A couple of days later this is followed by the launch of a campaign by a group of MPs asking for greater public control over Network Rail.

Now call me an old cynic, but could there be some link between the two stories? Could it be that Network Rail, having gotten wind of what the dastardly MPs were up to, decided to bang out their bit of good news ahead of the MPs’ announcement? It’s certainly not beyond the realms of possibility and, from my own career, I know that this type of thing does happen. After all, no harm in announcing a study – particularly as it appears to be the third study of its type in a decade. And even if the study concluded ‘God damn it, let’s build these tracks!’, nothing’s going to happen till at least 2014, by which time I hope to be working slightly closer to home.

Organisations often use press comment as a way of putting pressure on Government or seeking to influence policy. Wednesday’s edition of The Times reported Network Rail’s CEO Ian Coucher saying that the Government’s current expansion plans are inadequate. Oo-er! (Clutches handbag in shock!) That certainly sounds like a bit of pressure being applied by Mr Coucher, or he’s getting tired of Network Rail being the whipping boy of the industry.

But if the prospect of this study and the potential for new high speed lines gets you excited – as I must confess I experienced a brief moment of interest which supping my oaty breakfast cereal – let me calm you with a few words from The Times’ coverage. I quote:

The study, which is due to be published in July next year, will not consider specific routes and is unlikely to set a clear timetable for expansion. It will set out whether there is a business case for new lines and which routes would deliver the greatest benefits. Asked when construction could start, Mr Coucher said: “I have no idea.”

Ah…one of those studies, then. Oh dear.

Debacle at Didcot

noreply@blogger.com (Economy Klaus) — Tue, 17 Jun 2008 19:35:00 +0000

Well, more fool me for shooting my big mouth off! One day after I write that things are going pretty swimmingly on the the old Chippenham-Paddington commute, then the entire signalling system around Didcot falls apart. Que sera sera.

I knew things were going to be bad when I checked the FGW website before heading to the station this morning. Saw a rather sketchy announcement about signalling problems at Didcot and 60 minute delays, but according to the site, no trains were actually shown to be running late. Puzzling. Maybe it was just a local problem affecting only Didcot trains while the Bristol HSTs sped by on some other relief track. Maybe, maybe not.

The moment I arrived the station and saw the crowd on the platform and the cancelled signs I knew we were in for a morning of commuter chaos. But having been through this scenario too many times in the past, I wasn't having any of it. No, I turned the car around and headed straight home - and didn't make the usual mistake of buying a ticket for the car park. Thought I hang about at home and keep an eye on the website to see when things cleared up.

Back at home, however, the warnings on FGW's website had become more grave. 'Don't travel unless it's absolutely necessary', was the message to the residents of Cheltenham and Oxford. That was enough for me. I called the office and declared myself to be working from home for the day rather than spending hours being diverted via Melksham, Trowbridge, 27 over small towns in Wiltshire and a line originally closed by Dr Beeching.

Actually, serious point here: trying to decipher what's actually happening from some of the stuff written on the FGW website is nigh on impossible. Let me give you an example: this morning the site said that trains departing from Bristol on the hour were being diverted to Westbury, then onto Reading. Not stopping at Chippenham, I thought, so I didn't bother to go for the 8.25am. But 20 mins later, this was re-written to say that trains leaving Bristol on the hour were actually calling at Bath, Chippenham, Swindon and then going to Westbury. Not the same thing at all. So I could have caught the 8.25am - but by then it was way too late.

God knows what happened at Didcot. Some sort of power surge is mentioned in the press. Probably a badger urinated on a cable. Or maybe some sort of electro-magnetic pulse from Didcot power station (oo er!). One for the conspiracy theorists. Anyway, let's hope things are back to normal tomorrow - that's normal in the FGW/Network Rail sense of the word as opposed to the dictionary definition.

The summer time blues loom

noreply@blogger.com (Economy Klaus) — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 20:35:00 +0000

And there you all were thinking I'd gone... but no, still here, still keeping an eye on all things First Great Western. Just been away for a while so not had a chance to put fingers to keyboard. And, to be frank, things have been going pretty smoothly of late. Very few delays, very few cancellations. Well done Andrew Haines for getting things back on track. (Pun intended, ho ho!)

But, to be truthful, there are a few things I now needto bring to your attention.

First, another month has gone by and still no new ticket machines in Chippenham Station car park. I'm beginning to think the whole thing is just some sort of long-winded joke at motorists' expense. Will our promised new wonderful chip-and-pin machines ever make an appearance?

Second, the Shell tanker drivers strike. Dunno about where you live, but in sunny Chippenham we went from normality to Mad Max in the course of 24 hours. Having made a decision not to panic buy, did I ever regret it on Saturday morning when all of my four nearest petrol stations were either closed or out of diesel, my fuel of choice. This weekend coming I will be panic buying. To hell with stiff upper lips and British restraint.

Third and finally, the fate of my much loved 7.05am Chippenham-Paddington over the summer months. I, like many of my fellow commuters, have migrated from the 6.55am to the wondrous 7.05am because it's proving to be more reliable and, as it's fast from Swindon to Paddington, you stand a fighting chance of having a double seat to yourself all the way. Fantastic.

Imagine my horror, then, when on the platform this morning, a fellow commuter and like-minded soul told me that the 7.05am is being suspended over the summer holiday. Surely not, I cried, but a quick flick through the timetable section of the FGW website proved me wrong. They are suspending it - from June 27 to September 8. Nightmare! That means I'll be forced back onto the inhumanly early 6.55am. which will no doubt to packed to capacity.

What kind of train company cancels its services just because it's the summer holiday? The whole point of the summer holiday is that you actually get a nice bit of room on your train for six weeks and get to remember what a normal train service should be like.

Come on First Late Western, how mean can you get! And how many other services are going to be canned over the summer holiday? Not the spirit at all.

Anyway, on this blog at least, normal service is about to be resumed. Catch yer later, commuters.

Another month...and still no car park machines

noreply@blogger.com (Economy Klaus) — Thu, 22 May 2008 09:38:00 +0000

Hi folks. Apologies for not having posted for a while but things have been incredibly busy and I've simply not been able to get round to it. That said, it's also been fairly quiet on good ol' First Late Western. I don't want to tempt fate, but things have been running pretty smoothly recently. Well done, Andrew Haines.

Still, looks like there's a nice strike looming over the demise of the buffets, so that'll give me something to moan about, won't it campers?

Anyway, back to the infamous Chippenham Station car park machines. It's over a month since I first wrote about the colossal wait we've had for the promised new chip-and-pin machines - der-der-der-duh! - and still absolutely nothing's happened. That's now six months by my reckoning since APCOA first switched some of their old machines off and promised the replacements were 'coming soon!' Might have to change the name of this blog to First Late APCOA.

Byeee!

Gotta getta double seat!

noreply@blogger.com (Economy Klaus) — Tue, 22 Apr 2008 17:55:00 +0000

We were adelanted again on Monday night. Standing room-only on the 6pm Paddington-Bristol and not a word of apology from the train manager about the overcrowding. They also canned this morning's 6.55am Chippenham-Paddington due to staff sickness. Ho hum.

But at least Monday night’s commute gave me an idea for this latest post. It got me thinking about the need to protect your personal space on a cramped First Great Western journey, reminding me me of the old Ben Elton mantra: “Double seat, double seat, gotta getta double seat.” Indeed, there’s nothing nicer than being able to spread out over a double seat with no one sitting next to you. So, without further delay – unlike FGW (Ho ho!) – here are my top tips for ensuring that you keep your double seat all to yourself!

1. Lay down a one or two choice farts as a deterrent. A good Italian lunch should provide plenty of ammunition for the evening journey home. Just sit down, raise a cheek, squeeze one out, then relax and watch the faces of any approaching commuters as they recoil in horror at the ghastly aroma you’re exuded.
2. Kick those shoes off. Stretch out your legs to reveal two sweaty, stinky socks, preferable with holes in them, then let out a loud groan of pleasure and begin to massage your feet. An occasional “Oh yeah…Oh yeah” should add to the repulsion factor.

3. Pick your nose. If possible, get a good, juicy green goober on your fingertip and roll it around a bit while saying; “No, no one sitting there.”

4. Get a mass of complicated-looking paperwork out of your bag and spread it liberally across the two seats.

5. Behave like you’re suffering from some sort of metal illness. Try rocking back and forth in your seat a bit while saying, “No, that’s not right…Mummy doesn’t want me to do that…Mummy would never ask me to hurt anyone…” Then, just occasionally, shout “Cocksucker!” at the top of your voice. And should the train manager make an announcement, grab the sides of your head and shout; “Get out of my mind! I won’t listen to you!”

6. Always sit in the aisle seat. People will tend to go for an aisle seat rather than ask to squeeze past you – particularly with that grumpy face you’re pulling.

7. Have a feast. Buy a load of stinky, greasy food and spread it out over the seats like one of Billy Bunter’s boarding school midnight feasts. Doner kebabs, burgers and sausage rolls are particularly good. Also a can of Special Brew.

8. Carry a small container of shaved Parmesan cheese with you. When you sit down, sprinkle some of the shavings on the empty seat next to you, then some on your head and shoulders. If anyone approaches, start scratching your head violently and grimace.

9. Read a copy of the Daily Telegraph or Financial Times, or any large broadsheet paper for that matter. Think of the paper as being like the shields in Star Trek; when anyone gets close, block them with it.

1o. Objectionable reading matter. Place on the seat and table copies of the following: Shaven Lovelies, Nazi Foot Fetish, Scat Monthly, The British National Party bumper fun annual 2007, and First Great Western’s own magazine.

11. When anyone approaches, just look them in the eye, rest your hand on the spare seat, patting it lightly, and say: “Would you like to sit next to me?”

12. Er…

13…that’s all.

14. Bye for now.

The trouble with queuing

noreply@blogger.com (Economy Klaus) — Mon, 14 Apr 2008 20:00:00 +0000

It's always the same. Whenever I decide to pop down to Chippenham Station to buy a new monthly season ticket, there they are. They may be directly in front of me in the queue, or they maybe be three or four places ahead, but whenever I go to the ticket office, they're always lurking...and they always reach the counter before me: the pensioner couple buying their tickets for a trip a few weeks in advance. Usually they'll be wearing matching anoraks and their conversation with the ticket office staff member will go something like this...

"Hullo...my wife and I would like to buy a ticket to visit her sister in Bournemouth on the first Sunday after a full moon in July. And we'd like to buy the cheapest possible tickets known to humanity."

"Ok, sir, is that a return?"

"Yes, but we'll be returning on the second Saturday of Lent. And we'd like to come back via High Wycombe. Oh, and we'll be bringing a sheep with us."

"First class or standard class?"

"Depends whether there's a 't' in the name of the day."

"Will you be travelling out after 9.25am?"

"I will...but my wife won't. She'll be catching a different train at Melksham, then leaping from the roof of her carriage onto the roof of mine at Swindon like in Von Ryan's Express...as long as her arthritis isn't giving her gip...in which case we'll need someone to meet her own the platform and carry her in a fireman's lift to the toilet and back again..."

And on it goes for hour after hour: the most complex travel arrangements of all time, booked months in advance while the queue for the ticket office grows ever longer and the FGW staff member begins to look increasingly desperate. Trains come and go, but no one can catch one while this couple drone on and on ad nauseum about their epic trip to Bournemouth.

At moments like these, I can actually feel my life force ebbing away as time ticks away and that 20 minutes of free parking expires, but to head back to the car will mean losing my place in the queue and the potential to come back and find anther pensioner couple ahead of me planning a trip as detailed as Operation Overlord.

After a further 15 minutes, the discussion reaches its climax when the ticket staff chap finally reveals the price for this epic jaunt and the pension couple suck in their breaths and turn ashen. They look at each other, confer inaudibly, then tell the ticket chap:

"I think we'll come back next week."

Arrgh!

Taxi anyone?

noreply@blogger.com (Economy Klaus) — Wed, 09 Apr 2008 19:56:00 +0000

Bit of a grim day for First Great Western today. Things started to go awry fairly early on. My wife braved the service first to catch the 7.05am Chippenham-Paddington, but didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when the station’s PA bleated (pun intended) that sheep in the Box area were staging their very own protest against the Chinese Olympic torch by blocking the line with their little fleecy bodies. Delays of 15 minutes ensued while the woolly rapscallions were either removed from the track or mown down by said HST.

Having dropped the kids off, I made it to the station a little after 9am, just in time to see the Delayed sign flip up against the 9.25am, and then the following 9.55am to be cancelled.

“The train is being held up by a local service with a technical problem,” came the announcement. In First Great Western parlance local services with technical problems can only mean one thing: a blocked line. And blocked it was, well and truly. So blocked that 10 minutes later station staff kindly announced that we were to be ferried to Swindon by road transport.

Around 80 people rushed to the front of the station as instructed and queued to climb aboard a double-decker 55 bus right outside the front doors showing Swindon as its destination. But something was wrong.

Hold on, I thought, this is a scheduled service. Surely the good folk at FGW can’t have commandeered a scheduled bus service.

And I was right because out of the corner of my eye I spotted an FGW chap standing at the taxi rank about 50 yards away. I wandered over.

“Is this the transport to Swindon?”I asked.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Well just to warn you, everybody else seems to think it’s that bus over there.”

“It isn’t.”

“I know.”

“Six in here please.” And he opened the door of a Ford Galaxy to me and the two or three others who’d realised that the 55 bus was merely a cunning ruse designed to distract us from the waiting taxis.

We clambered in and were delivered to Swindon station just in time to catch a train which had been delayed by 45 minutes on the Bristol Parkway line by God knows what. I finally made it to work about an hour late – not too bad considering.

But to cap it all, my guests for a 1.30pm meeting arrived half an hour early because – wait for it – their trains from Bristol and Gloucester had been so heavily delayed they’d missed their earlier morning meeting and had come straight to my office. Their journey time from home to London? Around four hours. V poor.

The only positive thing I can say for the day is that at least I got my first class off peak upgrade on the train from Swindon – even though it was the delayed 9.29am which, according to FGW, is before 9.30am and therefore not a valid upgrade. You know what I think? I think those sheep at Box had the right idea. Baaaaah.

Trespassing on my time

noreply@blogger.com (Economy Klaus) — Tue, 08 Apr 2008 20:06:00 +0000

A very frustrating trip home tonight. No more than a couple of hundred yards outside Paddington on the 6pm to Bristol Temple Meads we grind to a halt. After three or four minutes waiting, the train manager comes on the PA to tell us that there are trespassers on the line ahead and we’re being held while the long arm of the law reaches out to nab them. All fine and dandy so far. Granted, I think there’s quite a lot to be said for proceeding at full speed – the best deterrent to trespassing on the tracks I can think of – but that’s probably a more extreme commuter view.

Moments after the train manager’s announcement has concluded and the passengers have digested the news and made their first round of calls home – “Hi luv…just outside Paddington…trespassers on the line…yeah, tell me about it!” – an HST thunders past on the neighbouring line 10-20 yards away. Immediately you can see the question forming in everyone’s mind: how come we’re stuck here, yet the trains next door are still going at full speed?

And so it continued for the next 30 minutes, despite the train manager’s increasingly plaintive cries that ‘we’ll be on our way to Reading in just a moment or two’, us crawling along while next door scores of trains sped in and out of Paddington at normal speed.

What kind of trespassers are these whose mischief is limited to just a single track? Are they are some sort of small train or one of those funny little carts you see in old movies on which two men pump a handle up and down to travel along the tracks? (Comedy trespassers?)

Whatever the explanation, we took 40 minutes to reach sunny Slough while everybody on the track next door shot home at their usual speed. The frustration among my fellow passengers boiled over into a orgy of mass tutting and rolling of the eyes. In mobile phone calls around me loved ones were told not to bother waiting at the station; instructions were given to turn down the oven; children were wished goodnight, taxis were delayed. All part of the nightly ritual on First Great Western.

Sign o' the times...er, car park

noreply@blogger.com (Economy Klaus) — Tue, 08 Apr 2008 13:56:00 +0000

Carrying out jobs in a measured and methodical manner is often the best way of getting things done, but back at sunny Chippenham Station, they’re taking it to extremes.

It’s APCOA I’m talking about – the good people who run the car parks. Just before Christmas last year, they started to take some of the car parking ticket machines out of service. By Christmas Eve there was only one machine working in the north car park instead of the usual three. Needless to say, the queues at this lone machine grew longer and longer while irregular visitors to the station wandered around from machine to machine like zombies looming out of the morning gloom.

Shortly after New Year, a number of large new signs appeared in the car park explaining what was going on. We were to have new ticket machines, the signs told us – big ones, exciting ones, ones with chip and pin, ones that were so complex staff would be on duty the morning they first came into operation to explain their diabolical workings to us.

We should, the signs warned, leave ourselves a little more time to deal with these wondrous new machines. (Though quite how we were meant to know which morning this transformation was going to take place on I don’t know.)

Anyway, duly given notice that new machines were on their way, we waited for their arrival.

And waited…and waited...

All through chilly January there was not a hint of them. Damp, depressing February came and went and still the old machines remained. Gusty March swept by…and no new machines. And now we’re well into April, four months since they started to take the ticket machines out of service, and still nowt. In fact, so slow has progress been, they’ve actually had to bring at least one of the old machines back into service having shut it down.

So the question I am forced to ask myself: just how long does it take to change the ticket machines in a First Great Western car park? Right now we’re at four months, but somehow I suspect this might be just the tip of the iceberg. Ho hum.

The Moral Maze...First Late Western style

noreply@blogger.com (Economy Klaus) — Wed, 02 Apr 2008 08:47:00 +0000

Ok, here are a couple of First Great Western-related moral dilemmas that I'm intrigued to know the answer to. Your views are very much welcome.

Moral Dilemma Number One: It's just before 6pm at Paddington and, as is occasionally the case, the 6pm Paddington-Bristol Temple Mead has been replaced by a considerably smaller Adelante train. (Indeed, this is precisely what happened last night, hence my question.) No seat reservations have been placed on the Adelante's seats, so a man gets on and sits in an apparently vacant seat. The train manager apologises for the smaller train but her announcement makes no reference to the subject of seat reservations. Just before the train is ready to depart and is now standing room-only, a person comes up to the seat where the man is sitting waving a reservation and says "That's my seat, I've reserved it." My question is: is the reservation valid even though a different train has been substituted and no reservations have been marked?

Moral Dilemma Number Two: According to the terms and conditions, First Great Western's latest off-peak upgrade to first class offer for season ticket holders says that the upgrade is valid 'for journeys commencing between 09.30 and 16.30'. Yesterday's 9.25am Chippenham-Paddington arrived late at 9.33am so I duly upgraded myself. However, the train manager said the upgrade was not valid as the service was scheduled to depart at 9.25am, although he did allow me to remain in first class for the duration of the journey. My question is: was my upgrade valid or not?

If you can shed any light on these perplexing puzzles, I would be most grateful.

First class here I come!

noreply@blogger.com (Economy Klaus) — Thu, 27 Mar 2008 12:51:00 +0000

After yesterday's rather depressing and shameful episode in my commuting life, a bit of a pleasant surprise today. Mr Postie delivered an envelope from First Great Western bearing the line 'Great offer from First Great Western inside'. You have my attention, as they say.

Upon opening said envelope, I discovered not only some vouchers for free drinks and snacks in the buffet and free weekend parking at the station, but also...wait for it, wait for it...a leaflet heralding the return of the free off-peak upgrade to first class for season ticket holders.

My wish has come true!

Yep, free upgrades to first class for season ticket holders till 6 July. Complimentary nibbles and beverages here I come.

To get your copy of the upgrade vouchers, click here. Maybe I'm just not seeing it, but it looks to me like sneaky ol' First Great Western have hidden this page away on their site so you can't access it from the navigation bars: you need to know the address. It's certainly not showing up in the Special Offers navigation menu where the upgrade option was last year.

Enjoy.

Nothing to be proud of

noreply@blogger.com (Economy Klaus) — Wed, 26 Mar 2008 21:25:00 +0000

Was intially feeling very pleased with myself tonight for catching the 5.30pm to Chippenham, a full 30 minutes ahead of my usual schedule. Settled into my seat and watched the train fill up around me, safe in the knowledge that I'd be home half an hour earlier than usual to spend some extra time with my kids.

As the train pulled out it was now very crowded. Cue apologies over the tannoy from the train manager although there was no particular reason why the train should be such a crush. A middle-aged women with a walking stick came past me in the aisle; I'm ashamed to say I deliberately averted my gaze and was relieved to hear someone on the other side of the aisle offer her a seat. Behind me, a middle aged guy was ranting loudly into his mobile about how much he hated coming to London and how the BBC was full of weak people - or at least it had been when he worked there - who were too spineless to have confidence in their decisions. More about him later.

Then, a couple of minutes beyond Paddington, trouble. Three teenage girls struggling with suitcases came down the aisle moaning pointed about the lack of seats and saying that their pregnant mother needed to sit down and everyone was so rude for not giving their mother a seat (althugh no one could see this pregnant mother anywhere). They were very agressive, so like most of my fellow commuters I settled lower in my seat and tried to ignore their boorish antics. Lady luck was not with me, though: they plonked their cases down in the aisle next to me and sat on them, moaning and bitching as loudly as they could about the 'rubbish people' on the train with 'no manners' know-wot-I-mean, in'it.

This went on for a few more minutes - very surly, just looking for a fight - until finally the woman sitting directly across the aisle from me began to remonstrate with them. All three of them began flinging verbal insults at her. I felt hot, uncomfortable, a pulse began to beat in my temple and I could feel my heart rate speeding up in preparation for trouble. This woman had had the guts to speak up on behalf of her fellow passengers and I knew I should intervene or her behalf, knew I should give her some support, but I didn't. Instead, I reached for the headphones of my MP3 player and retreated behind a wall of sound hoping everything would just go away.

The row between the girls and the woman went on for a few more minutes and then subsided into a brooding silence. The girls played their MP3s as loudly as possible, made more loud comments and tried their best to invade everybody's body space as much as possible. Finally, about 15 minutes after we'd left Paddington, they grunted to each other and dragged their cases away towards another carriage leaving us in peace.

I relaxed, almost sighing audibly - but equally I felt dreadful. The whole scene had erupted right next to me and without a shadow of a doubt these rude, agressive girls had been totally at fault, but I'd done nothing. The one woman who'd spoken out against them had been verbally attacked and then left high and dry by me and the other passengers. Not a single word of support or a "Hey, she's right" or "Why are you being so bloody rude?". Nothing.

I thought perhaps I should speak to the woman now the girls had gone and offer an apology but I couldn't even bring myself to do that. Appalling, I know. I spent the rest of the journey deep in sombre realisation that I'd behaved like a coward. It's not a nice feeling.

The only thing that made me feel slightly better was that the man sitting behind me who'd been shouting on his phone turned out to be a well-known broadcaster and newspaper columnist, whose name I shall not reveal. He'd done nothing either.

So let me end by saying this: if you were the lady on the 5.30pm from Paddington to Taunton tonight who had the bottle to remonstrate with the three thuggish girls, good on you - and I deeply regret my failure to support you when they turned on you.