First Great Useless

As you'll no doubt already be aware, I have a problem with First Great Western. They are not capable of running the service they are supposed to provide. We are halfway through this week and my delays already total more than an hour.

My problem is not generally with FGW front-line staff (though occasionally it is), my gripe is mostly with the appalling management who havn't a clue how to efficiently run a railway. In fact they can't be trusted to do most things.

Below is a picture I took at Bath Spa station on Saturday in the ticket office. The office is partly closed at the moment for refurbishment and this poster, signed by Ian Monks the station manager, apologizes for the inconvenience caused during the refurbishment. This poster sums up fantastically so many things about FGW.

Now anyone can make a typo. Though even the most basic proof-reading by a person of limited intelligence should spot this one before printing. What's worse though, is that having spotted this mistake after printing, you'd have thought Ian Monks would have been quite embarrassed and taken the poster down and printed another. But no, it's just neatly crossed out and corrected with a biro, so that everybody has their attention is drawn to how stupid it is. Nice.

They Are The Future

On my way home from work yesterday two yoofs got on the train at Bristol and sat on the two seats opposite me on the table. They were carrying skateboards, and I guess their age must have been around 15 or so. The following conversation took place between them. I worry about the future of our country.

Yoof 1: Yeah, I always have a drink when I go out. Make the night more fun innit.

Yoof 2: But aren't your parents angry when you get home drunk?

Y1: Nah, cos I always has a drink, but I'm never pissed, I just have some vodka or summit to make the night fun.

Y2: Yeah ok, that's cool man. What did you do last night then?

Y1: I dunno, can't remember, I was mashed, it was fun though.

The Great Unwashed

It’s Monday morning, It’s teeming down outside. Rain of biblical proportions. The train pulls in (late, of course) to Bristol Temple Meads. These things combined, make for a pretty miserable morning. But what’s this at the station? Life is about to get a whole lot worse.

Standing on the platform are hippies. They’re the early risers from Glastonbury. Actually, to call them hippies is unfair. Glastonbury is not attended by hippies any more, if indeed hippies still exist. No, Glastonbury is now attended by white, middle-class, sixth-formers and students.

And these students smell. They smell really bad. A group sit on the table across the aisle from me. Another group further back the carriage stink like their pockets are full of shit and their squelching makes me think they probably are. The regular commuters make sympathetic faces at each other.

I noticed this phenomenon last week, when a handful of early arrivals to Glastonbury were on the train on Wednesday and Thursday last week. Yes, that’s correct, they smelt bad before they had even got to Glastonbury. So that’s the type of person who goes to Glastonbury. Students with little interest in personal hygiene.

My friends have often asked me why I have never been to Glastonbury, or any other big commercial festival for that matter. It seems strange to them that as a lover of live music, and of camping, this would not be my idea of heaven. It’s not. It’s my idea of hell.

I have been to day festivals in Hyde and Finsbury park. I’m not a fan of standing three miles away from a band I love watching their distorted instrumentation on a big screen virtually incomprehensible due to the sun. And no matter where I stand I always seem to get hit by a bottle of piss.

The thing I love about camping is the peace and quiet. I like to go to a National Park with my tent, do some walking, read a book and enjoy an ale or three in the local hostelries. Sharing the camping experience with tens of thousand of other people who are intent on falling over onto my tent is my idea of hell.

And the final reason Glastonbury is not for me; I am the proud owner of a reasonable standard of personal hygiene.

Well Done FGW

Apparently there was a monumental thunder storm in the Bristol area last night around 6pm. Which is strange because 12 miles away in Bath there was not. The weather this week has been strange, hasn't it?

This storm caused (so the Chinese whispers at the station would have me believe) flooding and signal problems in the Severn Tunnel.

"The 06:56 to Swansea will terminating at Bristol Temple Meads."

So how do we get to Cardiff? I ask the train dispatcher. "They might lay taxis on for you. Go to Bristol and they'll deal with you there." He said washing his hands of the problem.

"Will passengers for South Wales please report to the Customer Service Desk on platform 3, for details of road transport to South Wales."

We do, we're split up into groups of four and given vouchers for taxis to Newport. Presumably buses are very difficult to get at short notice this time of the morning due to the school run.

Incredible efficiency from FGW, but it has occured to me that had this been a broken down train or something else that was FGW's fault, they might not have been so quick to splash the cash on quickly getting people across the border. They will, presumably claim these expenses back from Network Rail.

Still, it's nice to report good customer service occasionally.

Though I still have to get home yet.

Something Old, Something New

If you’re into discovering new music*, as I am, there is a certain joy to being the first person to discover a new artist.

Obviously you can’t have been the first person to have heard of them, the artists parents and friends for example, will almost certainly have heard of them before you. But, you know, that feeling when you discover an artist completely by yourself. No-one recommended them to you, and you’re pretty sure that none of your friends will have heard of them.

Some of the magic is lost if you heard them first on the radio, but it’s still ok, as long as it was late at night or a specialist station/show that no-one you know listens to.

This has happened to me twice recently. l must confess, I first heard both on the radio, but none-the-less I’ve bought the albums, love them to bits and am hopeful I’m introducing you to them for the first time. You’re gonna tell me you’ve already heard of both, aren’t you? Just to spite me.

The first is a Northern Irish singer called Duke Special. His debut album, Songs From The Deep Forest, is a fairly happy sounding, piano-based, singer-songwriter affair. It’s a pretty full sound though, with drums, strings and wind accompanying him in many of the songs. He is a kind of cross between Badly Drawn Boy and Cathy Davey (who was my super-special find last year). One of his more quirky traits is to exaggerate his accent to fit some rhymes, such as ‘are’ and ‘tower’ in Salvation Tambourine. If you want to download a couple of tracks to see what he’s about I recommend Portrait and Wake Up Scarlett, or watch this**. You’ll also hear him on Radio 2 as well, where Last Night I Nearly Died is now showing up occasionally on daytime play-lists.

The second is a folk band called Show Of Hands. I’ve started getting into my folk music recently. I know, I know, I should really be listening to something more suitable of my demographic, but frankly I get angry enough commuting to work, and something more calm is just to job to keep me sane on the train.

I first heard Show of Hands’ Roots on Mike Harding’s excellent Radio 2 folk show. This song caught my attention in particular, as it’s about the dearth of English folk music and has some spot on lyrics. This is something I’ve been particularly interested in recently, as I investigate the nature of the English identity (I’ve also been delving into Billy Bragg’s back catalogue). Take a listen to it – the video is below*** – if you like then try the rest of the album, Witness, I think it’s very good. They’ve been around for ages too, so there’s a whole catalogue to get through.

So, that’s my first attempt at a music review. Not as easy as I thought.

*I was gonna say musies, like they say foodies for people who are into trying lots of new foods, but frankly that looks and sounds, crap. Any other ideas for this term can be sent to the usual address. Thanks.
** D'oh! Just realised that video was from last year. Looks like I'm way behind - oh well. Thunder stolen.
*** Yeah, I know – it’s cheesy as hell, but they are folk singers

A New Record

Today a record was achieved that I believe will never be broken.

Did I run 100 m in 6.5 sec? No.

Did I eat 36 boiled eggs for breakfast? No, but I'd like to try someday.

No, I was put into a foul mood in the fastest time possible after leaving the house. Just 3 seconds.

I closed the door, turned around, and my bus went past a full 10 minutes before it was due to.

I shouted and waved my arms from my front garden and pointed at my watch. The driver didn't see me. A passenger did. He laughed.

Bastard.

Fares Fair?

I am gob-smacked. Truly gob-smacked.

I have spoken before, of how by travelling into London you get a better deal that if you commute around the South West. But I didn't realise quite how much a better deal you get. Having read some comments about season ticket prices on I Hate FGW's blog, I have investigated the price of tickets from Bath to London and from Bath to Cathays. Here's what I found:

Bath Spa - London Paddington
Daily Open Return: £121.00
Weekly Season: £174.80

Thus a weekly ticket costs 1.44 times the price of a daily open return.

Bath-Cathays (just outside Cardiff)
Daily Open Return: £16.60
Weekly Season: £70.80

Thus a weekly ticket costs 4.26 times the price of a daily open return.


That's not even close to being fair. In fact, put another way it means that commuters to London travel Tuesday afternoon, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday for free.

It means that commuters in the southwest get Friday afternoon for free.

Oh, and don't forget, if you travel to London you get relatively comfy, high-speed trains that are in the process of being refurbished. You get an on-board buffet, toilets, tables, optional first class and plug points at your seat.

If you travel between Bath and Cardiff you get the crappiest trains FGW can find (they gave all the nice ones away). These trains are often dilapidated, the toilets don't work, the windows leak when it rains, the air-con doesn't work and on half of them there is no room for a 6ft man to sit down comfortably, let alone tables to do some work.

How does FGW justify this disparity? I'll write to them and ask.
I think I'll let the local rag and my MP know the situation, while I'm at it.