A LADY AT LEISURE
‘I’m afraid it’s the trains that are yet again causing me strain’
A lady at leisure O
K, it’s that time of the year; still cold and dark; people are edgy... It’s not just the fact I had to pay a pound to stop
for thirty seconds to drop someone at Edin- burgh airport. Nor that I was overcharged twenty pounds for a turkey (don’t ask). Neither was it that the wretched computer man who connected my laptop to the printer quoted sixty pounds, then demanded ninety... No, I’m afraid it’s the trains that are yet again causing me strain. This is how it goes. My parents were staying
with us. They’re in their mid-eighties, still looking good, still right on the ball, but not as strong as they were. They live in Lancashire. I was taking them to Dundee station. The journey north to see us had been a night- mare. ‘Don’t worry’, I said reassuringly, ‘I’ll fi nd your seat and get you and the bags on the train.’ We arrived at a station by debris.
surrounded
That didn’t bother me. It’ll be magnifi cent when the waterfront
is revamped.
Buy your investment fl ats now. I went off cheerfully to buy a platform ticket. ‘Oh, we don’t do them any more.’ So how might I get through the barrier to put two elderly people on the train. ‘You can’t’, was the answer. You’ll
have
to buy a ticket some- where.’ Right, what sort
of ticket? ‘Well the cheap- est one is to Broughty Ferry... £1.20’. I was
fuming, but the
Rip off Britain strikes again and it sounds as if this time our resident lady may have had enough and be heading for pastures new – look out Falkland Islands WORDS FIONA ARMSTRONG ILLUSTRATION BOB DEWAR
train was on its way. Out came the wallet. ‘Ahh...’ said the man behind the counter,
‘you can’t just get a single. That’ll just get you IN through the barrier. You’ll need to get OUT, so you’ll have to buy a return.’ My patience snapped. The money went back in its pouch.
Lady gaga ‘Come on,’ I told the ageing parents. ‘Just look fragile.’ Mum, dad, frazzled daughter and two suitcases went down in the lift. At the barrier I prepared to do battle. Could they please let me through to put them and their bags on the train? ‘No.’ But please, they’re elderly! They can’t carry their own bags...
‘Where are you
going to?!’ the inspector snapped at them. My mother looked confused. She’s always
been a bit of an actress. ‘I don’t know’, she said plaintively. The woman turned on me, ‘What are you doing letting your mother on a train when she doesn’t even know where she’s going? She’s not fi t to travel...’ I was back-tracking now. Forget about me getting on to the platform. Love them dearly as I do, four days with my parents is quite suffi cient – and I knew they’d seen enough of me. ‘Mum’, I said loudly and clearly, ‘you’re going to Edinburgh, then to Preston.’ My mother looked demented. ’Am I?’ By now my father also looked slightly gaga; shades of Bald- rick in Blackadder and ‘deny everything’. The woman relented. ‘Oh come here...’ She
opened the barrier and grabbed the bags. ‘I’ll get them on the train. But you need to ask for help when you book your tickets. You’ve got to ask for assistance.’ Thank you nice Mrs Ticket Inspector, most grateful! But what’s going on? Why can’t you get on the platform without
buying a ticket (return)? What happens if you’re a mum with two small children and a pushchair? Or someone in a wheelchair? Do you also have to buy a ticket (return) to Broughty Ferry? I’m so fed up with feeling ripped off that I’m off to the Falkland Islands. That’s another story... let’s just hope the Argies don’t want something.
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