My love affair with Eurostar comes to an end
The meeting ended, my taxi was waiting outside and home was within reach. Or so I thought...
Sadly I hadn't factored in the horrendous Paris traffic, which literally crawled at a snails pace through the city. "What time did you say your train was?" Asked the driver, laissez-faire. Surely we weren't going to miss the 6.13pm to St Pancras after all that.
Fortunately not, we got there with time to spare and I was soon ensconced in Costa with Les Miserables (which I've downloaded onto my new Kindle and am really enjoying. Never did get round to watching the film). An announcement that the electronic passport control machines weren't working didn't phase me, I was through and on my way. Or so I thought...
Alas the passengers now trying to get through passport control electronically couldn't, and had to be processed by actual human beings. This departure from the machines meant that the train was delayed by 25 minutes, presumably while the unfortunate stragglers were glared at by men in glass boxes.
Eventually we set off, by which time I'd already worked out that catching the 8.03pm train from Paddington to Newbury as planned was impossible. It would have to be the 9.03pm. On the bright side it'd give me time to have something to eat at the station and not have to rush. Or so I thought...
"Would the Train Manager please report to the Train Driver," requested an officious lady over the train mic after we'd been sitting at platform 1 for ten minutes. Ominous. A further 30 minutes passed, during which time the language of the passenger behind me became ever fruitier. It turned out there was something wrong with the front carriage. But I was on the final stretch at last. Or so I thought...
At 10.15pm we pulled into just before Reading and stopped. At 10.20pm we pulled into Reading and stopped. And then we all had to get out and cross over to the Newbury train as our original was knackered and had to go back to Paddington, presumably for repairs. Our small band of tired travellers ran across to the next door platform and piled into the small, Thameslink train that proceeded to stop at Reading West, Theale, Aldermaston, Midgham, Newbury Racecourse - a pause - and Newbury. On the positive front, no one ate a Burger King. I was back at last and tottered out to where Eddie was going to pick me up. Or so I thought...
No Eddie and it's pitch black and -2C. 'Where are you?" I texted with frigid fingers. "Platform 1. Where are you?" Came the reply. He's parked on the other side of the new footbridge, at the far end of the platform. And beyond. I pick up the ancient pull-along one final time and stomp down to the bridge. Eddie waves from the other side, but disappears from view swiftly as an intercity pulls in. The relief when he takes my bag and helps me up the stairs is indescribable. I am so tired. It is 11pm.
Not even the car heating and seat heater can defrost my frozen bones. Finally at home, not even the electric blanket on six warms me up. I put it on 'two for nine hours' and am asleep.
Sadly I hadn't factored in the horrendous Paris traffic, which literally crawled at a snails pace through the city. "What time did you say your train was?" Asked the driver, laissez-faire. Surely we weren't going to miss the 6.13pm to St Pancras after all that.
Fortunately not, we got there with time to spare and I was soon ensconced in Costa with Les Miserables (which I've downloaded onto my new Kindle and am really enjoying. Never did get round to watching the film). An announcement that the electronic passport control machines weren't working didn't phase me, I was through and on my way. Or so I thought...
Alas the passengers now trying to get through passport control electronically couldn't, and had to be processed by actual human beings. This departure from the machines meant that the train was delayed by 25 minutes, presumably while the unfortunate stragglers were glared at by men in glass boxes.
Eventually we set off, by which time I'd already worked out that catching the 8.03pm train from Paddington to Newbury as planned was impossible. It would have to be the 9.03pm. On the bright side it'd give me time to have something to eat at the station and not have to rush. Or so I thought...
"Would the Train Manager please report to the Train Driver," requested an officious lady over the train mic after we'd been sitting at platform 1 for ten minutes. Ominous. A further 30 minutes passed, during which time the language of the passenger behind me became ever fruitier. It turned out there was something wrong with the front carriage. But I was on the final stretch at last. Or so I thought...
At 10.15pm we pulled into just before Reading and stopped. At 10.20pm we pulled into Reading and stopped. And then we all had to get out and cross over to the Newbury train as our original was knackered and had to go back to Paddington, presumably for repairs. Our small band of tired travellers ran across to the next door platform and piled into the small, Thameslink train that proceeded to stop at Reading West, Theale, Aldermaston, Midgham, Newbury Racecourse - a pause - and Newbury. On the positive front, no one ate a Burger King. I was back at last and tottered out to where Eddie was going to pick me up. Or so I thought...
No Eddie and it's pitch black and -2C. 'Where are you?" I texted with frigid fingers. "Platform 1. Where are you?" Came the reply. He's parked on the other side of the new footbridge, at the far end of the platform. And beyond. I pick up the ancient pull-along one final time and stomp down to the bridge. Eddie waves from the other side, but disappears from view swiftly as an intercity pulls in. The relief when he takes my bag and helps me up the stairs is indescribable. I am so tired. It is 11pm.
Not even the car heating and seat heater can defrost my frozen bones. Finally at home, not even the electric blanket on six warms me up. I put it on 'two for nine hours' and am asleep.
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