Network Rail. . . . .Brilliance and on time repair work

March 06, 2010

Standing at Sunningdale Station in beautiful Berkshire, one station stop from Ascot and only a half an hour from home normally fills me with a joy. If I am standing on the platform, it means normally I am on my way home. I have seen rainstorms, snow, sleet, wind whipped leaves occasionally sunshine, airplanes from Heathrow going and coming, a few sunsets and even the moon and stars as I await the train home.
My friends at Network Rail are one of the simple joys which add to the joy of traveling by train. This is the company which is tasked with the maintenance of the rail lines. A private company not quite owned, but fully subsidized by the British government in order to hide its debts from the accounts of the British nation. No, I do not make this stuff up. If in doubt, check on Wikipedia.

Of course, all of the works of man should need to be maintained and I will not claim the rail lines carrying thousands of people daily should be neglected. I can only question how any group of people can be so inept at scheduling and their ability to carry out the repairs on time for the people who actually use the lines.

Network rail had scheduled repairs for the Reading to London Waterloo line for a Sunday morning. The repair works are between Ascot and Feltham. Makes little difference, but it is about fifteen miles of rail they closed to repair a few hundred feet of track. Well, these are the stations where they have the easiest time to turn the trains around supposedly. Network Rail figured the repair works should run until 3 pm and normal train service should be restored by 3:30 pm at the latest. During this period and up until 4 p.m., they wold operate a bus replacement service for the effected stations.

I arrived at the station at 5p.m. to the station to see the signs still flashing that there were engineering works until 4 and the buses would operate until that time. This is not construed as a good sign.

The guy across the platform was already on the phone to the helpline and hearing his side of the conversation, I was filled with even less good feelings. Here follows his part of the conversation. . .

It seems the repair works were overrunning(as usual) and the help line had lost the buses. They could not tell if any buses were in operation. I know they are supposed to be running until 4p.m. Wait, it is already 5 so are they still running? So can you tell me if there is one or isn't there? He hangs up for some strange reason. Shortly after, a bus going towards London shows up. When those of us waiting for the Reading train ask, the driver can only reply. "I don't know, but you can wait by the side of the road to see if they are going to turn up."

At this point, I decide to try my luck with the help line. Boiled down conversation from their side went something like,

"We are sorry, but the engineering works have overrun. I am afraid there are no buses running. Yes, the next trains are cancelled because they can't get through Feltham. No, I am sorry, but the train crews running the trains from Reading to Ascot have all been stood down, so there is no trains from Ascot until the train from Feltham come through. Well, the next train will coming at 8:29 through Sunningdale. Well, you could go to Ascot and the next train will leave from there at 8:34. Oh, yes, you are right, that is the same as the 8:29. No sir, I can only apologize for your delay." I will leave it to your imagination, but believe it or not, I remained very nice throughout the conversation. She ended very nicely with, "Have a nice evening."

Yes of course I will. I like spending three and a half hours in 28 degree F temperatures waiting for a train that may never actually come because nobody with Network Rail management uses anything aside from their backsides to think with. Yes, I know, I am being bitter.

The train did turn up at 8:33. They were not sure if the next train would be on time or not. "Due to a fault, no real time information can be displayed." Luckily, that message came up around 8p.m. replacing the message that there was going to be engineering works and buses would replace trains until 16:00.

What is in a name?

March 04, 2010

After shortly arriving in England, being me, I would set off in random directions to do explorations. I have passed through and seen many wonderful sights. I have passed through towns and cities which I can say, I sometimes wonder about who actually decided it would be a good thing to give them the names they enjoy. True, where I grew up many towns had strange names. Most were named after Native American names for places or people. You can always tell people from southern states when they couldn't pronounce Nisswa (Niss-wha') got confused by Pequot (Pee-quot) Lakes or heaven forbid actually found the town of Nimrod on a map. People from Nimrod by the way are either fiercely proud or deny all knowledge of their origin in this town. England though seems to take this hilarity to new levels with towns such as Botley, Godalming and Dorking. A toss up, would you rather be a Nimrod or simply a Dork?
One person at work told me I should take a trip to see the castle further up along the coast going east. Confident in my ability to remember items and figuring it could not be that difficult to find, I set off the next day to find this example of British engineering and posterity.
Arriving at the ticket office of the train station, I calmly walked up and said, "I want to go to, oh crap it starts with Ar something."
The ticket seller replied, "Do you mean Angmering?"
"Yep, that sounds about right."
Paying for the ticket, the gentleman even tells me which platform and when the train would arrive. Traveling on the Southern line along part of the south coast of England changing at Barnham. Switching to the connecting train, I watch the rolling English country side and soon, a large castle rises up on a distant hill growing nearer. It looks to be surrounded by a small town and I can see a good sized church nestled with the castle. With my excitement growing, I watched as it went by on the left side of the train. However, the next stop was Angmering, so I figured I couldn't be that far off from my journey of exploration. Leaving at Angmering station, I calmly follow the signs for the town center. Walking for approximately twenty minutes, I reach the city center. I must honestly say, there is a quiet quaint village with a whole lot of nothing there.
It is at this point I see a sign pointing further up the road with a small picture of a castle. Following the sign up the hill thinking the trees and hill must really be blocking my view, I set off again in search of the castle. About a mile later, at a t-intersection in the road, I find a road sign. It is only five miles to Arundel which is of course where the first sign was directing road traffic to the castle. Deciding it was a little beyond my walk capacity for the day, I trudged slowly back down into Angmering vowing to make it to Arundel on my next day off.
When I returned to work the next day, a few people asked me how my trip to Arundel was. I calmly replied, "Oh, I didn't go. I just got on a train and picked a station and then got off and went for a walk." Well, I can say it is at least partially true. Besides, everybody was amazed.
I would make it to Arundel a week or two later enjoying myself greatly. It is only about a ten minute walk at most from the Arundel train station.
On a final note, if you ever do find yourself in Angmering, there is one of the best fish and chip shops in the town center. Maybe I should have claimed my residence in Dorking. . .

Arundel Castle

Obviously from Arundel Train Station

Bummble-Bee Holiday Travel

February 24, 2010

Everyone dreads the Christmas holiday period whether they admit it or not. Irrespective of the family members who you are attempting to be nice to in the spirit of the time of year. It may grate when you suddenly find yourself loosen your belt or pants again just when you thought the Thanksgiving bonanza had almost worn off of its unintended parts of your body. No, it seems the worst part to the holiday season is the travel involved. It matters little if you are the traveler or if you are waiting for the person who is traveling, events always seem to cast a dim glow upon the entire proceedings.
Take the example of two travelers from Reading who happen to be visiting the wife's family in say a contry in Eastern Europe. I will not name the country, simply refering to it by a false name of P and say perhaps the city may be W being their final destination.
The flight is destined to leave Heathrow early in the morning. Departure is around ten am. Minor problem, a snow storm arrives the night before and yes, as I have stated before, snow cripples England. Leaving their small apartment a.k.a. "flat" at four o clock in the morning to try to catch the four forty five bus to make sure they can make it, our intrepid travlers drag their fifty pound suitcases through four inches of snow about one mile. Let me make a minor correction, the husband drags the suitcases through the snow, slush and water because the English can't figure ot how to clean off their sidewalks, but why bother complaining.
After being told by the bus company the first bus went out, but they wouldn't know if they were sending out another until the first made it to Heathrow and reported, the intrepid travlers were told they should take the train as it was most likely the best way to get there. Inner shudder of fear and distrust passes through the husband upon being told this. Yes the same trains who can't get traction becase of leaves. Yes the same trains who get cancelled because of a dusting of snow or a hint of cold air. Yet, on this occasion, I must commend them, they actually got our train through. I feel sorry for the follow on passengers as I already saw the next few trains were being cancelled as we boarded ours. I, of course did not mention this to my other half. Crazy, not stupid.
Going through check in, one of our boarding passes refused to be printed. It seems there was an error and we would have to stop when we hit our airport change. Oh, yes from London we went to Prague then onto W flying the Czech national airline. No problem, we got our flight landed in Prague and went to check in our outstanding boarding pass. It seems however our seats were no longer together. Her seat was 6c while my seat was 9B. Asking the nice lady if it was possible to switch seats, she hit a few buttons on her computer and said, "No, I am sorry, bt the plane is full." Ok, we'll just ask someone to switch with us.
Arriving at the departure gate, there seems to only be about twenty people milling about. A little while later, they call to begin the boarding. Twenty people move into the line and one person looks out the window to see. . . . . No plane!!!!!!!! Asking my wife, "Did the Polish oops I mean P government upset the Czech airlines or something?" She laughs. Trooping down the boarding ramps from the first floor to the ground floor, we are calmly herding in a waiting airport bus.
At this point, I again count heads and it seem there is only twenty people in the bus as it pulls away from the gate. "Are you sure your government didn't upset the Czechs somehow?" She laughs. At this point the bus seems to be driving across the country giving us a full tour of the runway and airport and runway and hey I have seen this place before. Seeing a small passenger jet, I point it out to my wife, porobably that one. Nope, we continue our scenic jaunt. Past the midsize turbo props. "Seriously, did your government?" She shoots me a dirty look. We continue to drive.
The bus then makes a hard left turn. Why, at this point we are making a hard turn as we are near the ass end of nowhere on a airport runway, I can not fathom. Where we pull up to a small turbo prop aircraft being loaded by one baggage handler. "I just saw our suitcases." To which my wife replied, "You are joking!?" This should not be construed as a question and you should be under no illusion as to you should answer. The baggage handler finishes loading the bags including all carry on luggage bigger than a laptop, the pilot rolls down the window and is handed a small piece of paper. I am hoping at this point it is not the instructions to a) how to drive it or b) how to get there. Also at this point, a laugh escapes with the thought about the P government and upsetting the Czechs. Didn't ask. Crazy not stupid remember? We calmly board the plane to be welcome aboard by the single stewardess and the two pilots. They can turn around from the cockpit and talk to the people in the front row if the stewardess hasn't deployed her chair.
We rearrange our seats with some poor understanding soul and the bummble bee takes us into the air and on our way to W. You know you are flying slow and low when there is no talk about the masks dropping from the ceiling for pressure loss and the brace position for a crash is don't worry about it. Announcements from the captain can't be heard over the engines. It is a Saab by the way with ashtrays in the arm rests. Fun to play with when you are a kid annoying your parents, but worrying when I can barely remember when they stopped putting them in airplanes. Your butt and body get a free complimentary upgrade vibration massage though and a selection of water, three juices and mini cans of coke. Oh, the life of luxury.
The pilot had a sense of humor though. Everytime he made an announcement involving our one stewardess, he referred to the "entire cabin crew." Even the stewardess laughed.
We eventually landed in W. tired and well shaken.
It was only a few days until the traditional Christmas would exact its toll. Walking away from the bummble bee plane, "Yep, your governement must have really upset the Czechs." Ok, maybe a little bit stupid, definitely crazy.

Windsor Castle Fire

February 19, 2010

Sitting in my bar today, I came upon one of my regular customers telling a story about how she was partially to blame for the fire which wrecked a large chunk of Windsor Castle. Being the touristy type of person I am, I have actually visited the spot where the fire started in the castle. There is a small plaque in the room in the now rebuilt part of Windsor.
Little Sylvia as we call her is sitting down and telling her story of ow she was one of a few seamstresses who actually worked for the Royals and was in charge of making the set of silk curtains which were to hang in the small chapel. These beasts were twenty-eight feet tall and all hand sown. Sylvia explains how not a stitch can be seen and how they had to join four tables together. "You simply couldn't have this beautiful silk dragging on the floor now could we?" The silk was sown onto the wooden pieces so the curtains would hang correctly. The gold trimmings were measured every stitch they put in so as not to be off the slightest bit. Sylvia explains all of this with a sense of humor of how much work she and her team put into the curtains. Made simply because the Queen wanted to be able to close the Chapel off when she entertained guests as they walked from the Dining Room down to the receiving room and nobody had thought to put a door there.
After the fire, Sylvia asked one of the Royals if he would tell her what exactly happened.
The Royal replied, "We should throw you in the dungeon as it was your curtains which caused the fire."
In truth, a workman had left a set of high powered lights on in the room. The window had been left open because of it being such a nice day. A breeze or a gust of wind blew Sylvia's curtains onto the lights where they caught fire.
Two years ago, Sylvia was invited to attend a ceremony in honor of one of the service medals she had earned. Taking place not at the Castle, but in the large church, Sylvia was seated next to Lady A's lady in waiting. Sylvia, being Sylvia was curious as to what color the Queen would be wearing for the day. Sylvia explains it as being a womanly thing to do. Try to catch a peek of what the Queen is wearing. The lady in waiting took Sylvia behind the scenes to catch a glance. The Queen was apparently talking to three gentlemen when she caught a glance of Sylvia. Abandoning the gentlemen, the Queen walked over to Sylvia and talked to her for a moment. Sylvia said, "She has a great memory. She told me it was a shame about the curtains, as they were the most beautiful curtains she had seen." Sylvia was pleased beyond measure.
"I left working for the Royals when I was sixty-six years old."
Sitting and listening to the story, it reminds you of how something so small and seemingly forgotten can cause so much joy and even anguish to the people involved. The little stories found most amusing also seem to crop up at the funniest places and times.
Sylvia unfortunately had to give up dancing about two years ago when her partner dropped her during a move. She damaged her hip and broke her wrist. She still likes her ice cream after lunch when she comes by and flirts with the guys. Did I happen to mention Sylvia will be celebrating her ninety-ninth birthday this year.

The art of chugger avoidance

February 09, 2010

Walking down the high street in the pedestrian zone of most any English town, you will quickly discover the people who have lived in the town for more than a few months. There are blindingly obvious signs you are an outsider in Reading if you can't avoid the most common norms of walking downtown.
I am not talking about the signal lights crossing into and out of the pedestrian zone that only seem to work every ten or fifteen minutes. Don't worry as this is only a major road used by buses, taxis, delivery vehicles, other automobiles and even the homicidal bike rider intent on mowing down as many walkers as possible. Simply look down the street, judge the distance and calmly walk across the street. You are known as an out of towner if you actually wait for the crossing light to turn green with its accompanying screeching noise before you cross. Well, you might be someone from Warsaw, but you can't ever really explain people from Warsaw.
You will be used to the guy who might be homeless sitting on the corner by the drug store nightly playing his guitar and singing with his gravel rough voice most likely caused by years of hard living. They are the out of towners and normally heavily intoxicated who try to stop and talk to the local "blues" man. He calmly ignores them as we walk by chuckling to ourselves about those silly tourists who try to request songs. He is now doing afternoon shows on the other corner. I think the matinee crowd is not quite as good as he seems to do these infrequently.
No, I can pick out the "others" by their inability to spot and use the natural cover to avoid the English institution of chuggers. Most people would ask, "What is a chugger?" Well, I must confess, I picked the term up from one of the locals.
The term is a cute combination of "charity & muggers." The chuggers are the charity workers who will lie in wait from one end of the high street to the other in groups of five to ten who will attempt to stop random people to explain their causes and solicit card donations conveniently withdrawn monthly from your account. They are very clever, because they can not accept standard donations, but now take your details and credit card or bank card details which as I said "will automatically debit from your account the set amount of only X number of pounds a month. This is less than a couple of cups of coffee."
They see the "fresh meat" coming a mile away. Any eye contact and they will close in. The cry of "Do you have a moment?" echoes across the street. "I am working for . . . . " Now you are trapped and they have you pinned with pictures of something horrible to pile on guilt. Now don't get me wrong, I am American. I tip, I give to charity all the time and I volunteer to help out when I can. Apparently England is proud of the fact it donates so much to charity. It ranks within the top twenty of the EU. Now ask yourself how may countries are in the EU. Not a ringing endorsement. Besides, they get ahead a little because of the strong pound. . .
So those who have been here a little while will walk slightly behind and off to one side of the person in front of them upon seeing the pack of chuggers working the street. If the chugger moves, they will first try and pick off the person in the front. Yes, you will see us old hands using the trees as blocking agents, other walkers and mail boxes as cover and even those homicidal cyclists as screeners for us. If all else fails, a hard turn into one of the shops can spring the trap.
On a Saturday a few weeks ago, I saw chuggers from three children's charities, one for homeless shelters, one for cruelty to animals, one for homes in third world countries, one for affordable housing, one for developing infrastructure in third world countries and one working for the liberation of Palestine. It almost made me feel sorry for the poor Socialists trying to rail against the evils of all capitalism. Almost. . .
So I am now an old hand at these quirks of this town. Just a word of warning. If you have to take a hard turn into one of the stores make sure you choose a correct store to go into and realize they may wait for you. . .

Great Scots, they're English

February 02, 2010

Coming from the backwoods of Minnesota near the very wide open (read flat as a pancake) spaces of North Dakota and Iowa, distance seems a concept easily defined. It seems no great enterprise to jump in your car and travel three hours to see someone, spend the afternoon and return home in the same day. It wouldn't be polite to impose upon anybody by actually asking to stay at their place. Heaven forbid if the drive is less than six hours you even think of staying in a hotel. Distance and travel here seems to be a slightly slippery idea which I fail to grasp. Talking to a people is part and parcel of what I do for a living. Discovering where people are from, why they are here and where they are going while making small talk also comes from growing up a mid-western kid.
Most people travel by car here on road systems designed for horse travel in the early 1500's. You might think I jest in this, but I do not. English roads are classified as M for motorway, A roads which are the primary roads, B roads being the secondary roads and unclassified roads. Now an American's take on their classification system is simple. The motorways which should be equivalent to our interstates are more like highways. The A roads are what I would classify as our county roads and heaven forbid you travel on a B road which have blind corners single lanes and all sorts of other bits of fun. The unclassified roads are normally single lane (8 - 10 feet wide) with areas every so often where a car can pull into the ditch to allow the oncoming car to get around. Did I mention they like to drive somewhat fast on these roads. Now you understand why I normally take the train. Although, now I am digressing.
It seems to most English, the idea of a long drive is construed as slightly more than about one hour. Anything beyond this distance may require rest breaks or overnight stays. Of course, much like LA because of the road system English measure their drives not in miles or kilometers but time it takes to get somewhere in "normal" driving conditions.
One of the staff asked for a few days off to go and visit their relatives. They calmly explained they would need at least four days. If they could get five, they would be happy. I gave them their days off on the schedule. Asking the question, "Where are you going?" The response I got was they were traveling to Scotland. They figured a day to travel there and they would be exhausted by the drive. Three days to visit and the final day to return back.
"Where are you going in Scotland? Way up into the Highlands?"
"Oh no. But the drive will take about four or five hours." They seriously didn't know if they could make the drive in a single day.
I was told by a friend, it takes about eight hours to drive from the south shore of England to the north of Scotland. I think back and remember I could just make it to either the northern or southern border of Minnesota from my home in that same amount of time.

Modern Transit from London pt 1

January 19, 2010

It seems we all understand the need to leave a little bit of extra time when we are traveling. Whether by car (gotta hope the traffic is light), train (hopefully they are running close to schedule) or even airplane (crap, gotta get through the airport), we understand delay may be inevitable. It seems reasonable, we are human traveling with other humans in machines humans built. Errors and delays will always creep in.
It seems in this country, the mode of public transport commonly used is the rail system. Oh, it is a joy to behold, riding in comfort across the miles without the cramped space of an airline seat. No other drivers the road to bother you. Oh, what a joy.
I have since discovered what should be a crowning jewel in the English transportation system has a few minor flaws. All right, they might be considered minor to people from modern countries in say Botswana or Outer Mongolia.
The British and French have the ability to construct a tunnel under the English Channel linking their two countries. Years of planning, years of construction and I can even remember when the symbolic joining of the tunnels. Flash photography, lots of smiling individuals. It is great as they run the high speed trains through the Chunnel, London to Paris as quick as you like.
Ooops, this year shortly before Christmas, they ran into a minor snag. After ten plus years, first one then several trains broke down in the tunnel. People are told to stay on the trains for their own safety. Five hours later, they are still sitting under the Channel in trains that don't work. Eventually the train are pulled from under the Channel and the passengers are freed. Of course, all other scheduled services are stopped indefinitely until they can find out what has cause this mass problem. Massive pile ups of traffic and passengers at the various stations. Oh well, the people who were trapped on the trains were given a refund, another ticket and a hundred pounds in compensation.
What evil mastermind is behind the stopping of the entire Eurostar and Euro Tunnel services? It must have been some great and dastardly deed perpetrated by the enemy of humanity! After several days, Eurostar announced they had discovered the problem. It seems the trains designed to run above the ground from London until Dover, then dip under the channel until they reach Calais and reemerge onto the surface on their way to Paris were undone by "fluffy snow." Apparently they have never encountered or dreamed of the situation where the "evil fluffy snow" could get into the electrical system and short out the entire train. Actually multiple trains were brought to their knees and trapped. It took several days before the engineers could patch the trains enough to ensure the "dastardly, evil fluffy snow" could not cripple them again.
Thankfully, I flew to Warsaw for Christmas, but that is another story.

Slight Flurries leading to accumulation of stupidity

January 15, 2010

It may strike any sane person as a slightly odd situation. A front page newspaper article involving a small front end loader, the local council and a guy trying to do snow removal. This however sums up the situation in large parts of England over the past week. Being an island in the northern Atlantic, you would think England and its people would be well suited to dealing with all sorts of weather. I would learn the hard way once again how wrong a person can be.
The English weather service predicted a heavy snowfall for large parts of England. The warning is stated by the Met office website as "light flurries leading in some areas to accumulations" This warning had been going out for days. At around five o'clock Tuesday afternoon, the first flurries began to make their descent to the ground along with several million of their friends. Growing up in Minnesota, I know when a heavy snow is coming down. This was a heavy snow with nice big fat flakes coming down at a quick pace.
Leaving work at nine thirty, I would catch the 9:37pm train to go back to Reading. Now this train ride should take thirty minutes and pass through Ascot, Wokingham and even a town called Early. Nope, I can't even make stuff like these town names up.
At the stop in Ascot, the guard on the train walks through to tell all the passengers they are holding the train in Ascot until they can decide what they should do. Apparently, the people who run the trains could not decide whether the train should terminate in Ascot or continue its run to Reading and wouldn't tell the train crew until they made the decision.
Fifteen minutes later, they made the decision to push on to the next station. Crawling along at about ten miles an hour, the train would reach Reading just shy of midnight.
The next morning, England wakes up to four inches of snow on the ground and in some places up to eight inches with more falling slowly. The rapid response to the situation? Schools and airports close, buses and trains are cancelled, shops shut. The local councils begin to tackle to problem with roads. In Reading, a city of 100,000 plus, they proceed to salt the main roads only. Secondary roads are unimportant and will be left as is. Four trucks would take care of the "gritting" the entire city.
Well the chaos would continue for days as more scattered snow showers dropped dustings across the town and country. The councils would be forced to cut their salting efforts by twenty five percent as the supplies began to run low. Then they cut the efforts to fifty percent as they had only enough stocks to last for another two days.
Now a question you may ask, is what does this have to do with the man and his digger?
A man who's brother owned an excavation company borrowed one of the loaders and proceeded to dig out the school where his children went. Asking no money, the good samaratian then dug out another nearby school. He proceeded to clear the road he was living on and helped to dig out his neighbors. His neighbors were exalting their good samariatian as he would not accept any payment for his efforts. He stated he was simply tying to help out.
While he was about digging out his neighbors a local official from the city council stopped him and told him he must desist from his efforts. If he continued, he would face a hefty fine. Asking the reason, the city council member told him he might "damage the road." Remember this is one of the roads the city decided was going to be left because they have insufficient salt to actually "grit" the road.
The city council published a statement a few days later which states, "While we appreciate people trying to help with the situation, they should only do so after contacting the offices on 08........" Wait, those offices were closed because they couldn't make it in because of the snowfall.
A week and half later and temperatures have been above freezing with rain showers. The snow has gone and the country of England pats itself on the back for how well they handled the crisis. Rail got back on line after a week, airports only closed for a few days and people emptying groccery stores in panic buying because they feared they would run out of essentials.
Yep, flurries of stupidity.