42288 23:30 Wednesday 9th July

42288

 

 

 

It was another morning train in reverse formation which makes the obtaining of the picture all the more difficult every time it happens. I just can’t risk life and limb being crushed under the stampeding hordes as they dash for the exits or find myself pinioned against the cycle racks at Paddington.

I did make a vague effort to video the number as I sailed past but the results were less than impressive and best consigned to the bin.

The return journey was also less than impressive.

Paddington to Reading was fine, albeit rather tired and sleepy as the Oranges and Lemons tour has been reinvigorated and there I was catching the last train home in what they call a tired and emotional state. The 23:30 to Bristol Temple Meads service was almost empty and Carriage B, 42288, provided a comfortable setting for half the journey home.

The second half though wasn’t as brilliant though as it was a replacement bus service which was leaving from “the north exit” as the PA system repeatedly squawked to all and sundry. Now I’ve been sailing through Reading Station for just over 3 years now on a daily basis and I’ve never heard any of the exits being referred to by any of the cardinal directions, never mind “north”, “west” or even “south by south-east”.

I went to the bus stop outside the front of the station, which is where every rail replacement bus since time began has left from but I think David Attenborough discovered more life in some African desert than there was here. I did bump into one smartly dishevelled man who was looking as lost as I felt and we soon established ourselves as kindred spirits trying to find out where this bus was.
We searched desperately for someone to ask but the station concourse was bereft of any FGW staff and apart from the Network Rail engineers and the girls in Tutti Fruitti coffee shop, who were both asked, we were no nearer locating the bus and as the persistent PA announcements were declaring, the bus was going to depart any minute.

A lack of options saw us sprinting across the bridge to the new exit (yes, apparently, this IS the “north exit”) and just about make it onto the departing bus by the skin of our joint teeth.
Quite why there either wasn’t a person directing people to this obviously well known “north exit” or at the very least a big sign with a helpful arrow I still can’t work out, but no doubt this saved Marky Mark part of someone’s wage or the cost of some marker pens so it’s all good?

Just as a friendly Post Script, my newly found lost friend turned out to be a lawyer and possibly the poshest person I’ve ever spoken to. And I don’t mean anything negative in that at all. He was witty and amusing and very complimentary to my blue trousers and yellow shoes, it was like chatting to an intelligent version of Tim Nice-But-Dim.