Mark Grist's Blog
28-12-2009: First Class to Nowhere
Right, a really long blog post today, but I had to get this out of my system. I had a really exciting train journey lined up yesterday. In my yearly journey back from Bristol to Peterborough, I always take the train and it is always stressful, cramped, blood-boiling, bowel clenching stuff.
But not this time. This time I’d been online and got tickets in advance. And not just any old tickets, but FIRST CLASS tickets. YES!
If anyone actually reads this, they're probably wondering 'why the capitals?' Well, my imaginary (and somewhat critical) friend, that's because I've never been first class before. Ever! On anything! I once got to go at the front on Nemesis at Alton Towers, (which probably doesn't even count) - otherwise I have been languishing in economy all my life.
That doesn't mean that I haven't tried to upgrade. I often put down that I'm a Doctor, or that Summer and I are 'Lord and Lady' when booking flights (I remember reading in some awful 90s magazine that it can get you upgraded) It hasn't had any effect so far, instead it's just allowing me to relive that uncomfortable feeling of buying hooch when underage. As we collect the tickets I'm almost certain the woman behind the desk is going to ask which plot of land we own, or someone in the queue will start choking and everyone will expect me to perform a tracheotomy. Anyway, I've basically always wanted to travel First Class but never, ever, EVER been able to. Then, when booking online a few weeks back I realised that I could get a first class ticket cheaper than an economy one.
Wow! There was lots of excitement. An excitement-fest, in fact. I'd even mentioned it during those awkward Christmas conversations with people you haven't seen in years
A: So, what are you up to these days?
Me: Doing a lot of teaching and writing. Same old, same old. But I managed to get a First Class ticket back to Peterborough on the train the other day.
A: Oh, cool.
Me: Yeah, I'm really excited. Have you been First class before?
A: No.
(Insert smug silence here)
A: Well, see you later.
Oh yes, I was already preparing my self for the life of the First Class commuter. On the day of the journey I got to the station early. I bought some fresh squeezed orange juice and a broadsheet, nervously checked my tickets over and waited. The platform filled up, but I wasn't worried. When the train finally came in and the crowd surged desperately into their cramped economy seats I chuckled, made my way to 'Carriage H' and found that I had a whole table seat to myself. Yes.
It was amazing. Leather. Huge leather. And emptiness. No one anywhere - part from an old woman who looked at me rather suspiciously. 'That's right!' I thought. 'I've broken out. I'm one of you now '(whatever 'one of you' actually means. Presumably she was just someone that used the same website as me to book her ticket). Anyway, there was no complimentary stuff, but the seat was incredible. Best seat ever, in fact. I was really comfortable with room for my legs for the first time. Not only that, but I had another First Class train journey to go on after this and so I was excited. Very, very excited. In a sense of euphoria I started writing a sonnet to my seat. Rock n roll.
It was all going well until I needed to go to the loo. As luck would have it, there was a woman a little older than me sat in the corridor out the end of First Class. I had to hop over her and both her bags to get into the loo. Very awkward. She looked tired but (I told myself) oddly comfortable with her book to read. Even so, I felt little pangs as I headed back to my seat. I felt guilty, I think.
I needn't have. My punishment for such a lavish travel experience was just around the corner.
We arrived in London and I felt really chilled. Very content indeed. This was the smoothest journey home I'd had in years. I picked up my bags and headed to the underground with a spring in my step.
It was only when I was on route to Kings Cross that I started to realise that the spring in my step was way too springy. Something was wrong. Oh shit.
Turns out that I'd left my rucksack on the train. I was so light headed by First Class travel that I'd forgotten the little matter of everything I own, including my passport (dick) on the train. I started sweating.
I don't want to go into it all but I spent a very stressful hour legging it back to Paddington, arguing my way back through the gate, hunting for the train only to find that the bag was gone. I managed to find a cleaner in a fluorescent jacket who spoke very little English. She pointed me in the direction of lost property. Still sweating torrents, I thanked her profusely. I then legged it. I had another First Class train journey that I was going to miss!
I was interrogated in the lost property office for ages. It got quite embarrassing as, during the morning, my Mum had expressed shock at the way that I pack my bags - basically I just shove everything in until the bag is full. My Mum loves jigsaws and little puzzles and things and said that she'd find it relaxing to pack the bag. I wasn't going to complain; so while I sat eating beans on toast she took everything out and repacked the rucksack. Awesome. Wonderful lady.
But this didn't help when the guy, who had my bag behind a little barrier, started questioning me.
A: So, what's the make of the bag?
Me: Oh. Err... I don't know (looking around for agreement from a dozen other people in the office). You can't expect me to remember the make! I got it ages ago. It’s white and blue though.
A: Hmm. So, what's in the top of the bag?
Me: Ah. I...don't know.
A: you don't know?
Me: No. Someone else packed the bag. (Murmurs around me)
A: (suspicious look) someone else packed it?
Me: Yes. (Laughing) It's alright. Not a drug dealer or anything. (More murmurs) I know the things that are in it. My Mum. My Mum, just... wanted to pack it.
A: Your mother packed your bag.
Me: (silence) yes.
A: There is a book in the top of the bag. What is it?
Me: Um. It's a poetry book by Luke Kennard? I got it for Christmas.
A: No.
Me: Um. I also got a kids book. Mr. Magnolia's only got one boot. (Looking around defiantly) I used to like it when I was a kid!
A: No.
Me: Um. Oh, is it Submarine, by Joe Dunthorne?
A: By who?
Me: Joe Dunthorne.
A: Who Dunthorne?
Me: Joe Dunthorne.
A: Joe?
Me: Joe.
A: Yes, that's right. Now I just need to check two more things with you, and if you get them right you can pay the fine (£20) and have it back.
Me: You're kidding, right?
A: (looking up) No,
This went on for AGES. So long in fact, because I didn't know where anything was in the bag, that the guy just gave up and gave it back to me. The sweat had congealed on my forehead by now and I was angry. I had missed my train. No more First Class :(
Not only that, but it turned out that my ticket was so cheap because it ONLY allowed me on that specific train. This meant that my final train journey was spent squatting in the corridor, keeping an eye out for the ticket guy and dashing into the toilet as he came past. As I stood, knees bent, glaring down the train I thought to myself that I probably wouldn't try to travel First Class again. It's a level of comfort I'm clearly not designed for.
Anyway, here is the sonnet (slightly tweaked this morning) to my first class experience. It is a much more bitter piece than the light, airy one I started writing on the train, but then I'm much more grumpy now than when I started writing it. and I may not be wealthy, but I'm certainly a viable option for the 'ass' reference at the end, judging by my pathetic attempt at train travel.
First Class Sonnet
Oh British Rail First Class, Oh first Class Britain
A leather bound land of the wide and thrilling
I have joined your ranks; sat where you’re sitting
Embraced lavishly like some crazy bond villain
Who takes what he wants, whose demands are demanding
His character outclassed by the depth of his pocket
Oh come, throne him up, you can’t leave him standing
He needs wifi, red wine and his own power socket
And while he laughs, he slips and slides on your chairs
The poor, in piss filled halls can hide
With cramping ached feet, and a steel cold glare
At guards with clip on ties that keep them outside.
the destination's the same, but the journey more sweet
For the wealthy ass traversing life on the comfortable seat.
