The dark side of this is extreme intolerance of anything less than perfectly organised and run, most particularly when I've done the management thereof. Self-leniency is not in my lexicon.
The universe devilishly decided to challenge my equilibrium on Wednesday and turned a simple, 2 stop train journey to meet up with a friend into frenzied, ulcer-causing chaos.
My day went like this:
- Arrive at Leighton Buzzard station in good time for the 10h24 train to Berkhampsted. Purchase ticket.
- Study the route map and note that the correct train leaves from Platform 4.
- Exit the ticket office onto the platform and see a train pulling in several platforms away.
- Assume this is a train leaving a few minutes earlier which I had thought I may be too late for; thank my stars that I can catch it and leap up the stairs and across the bridge like a lumbering buffalo. Throw myself onto the train as the doors shut.
- Collapse on the seat, steaming gently under 3 layers, woolly hat, scarf and sheepskin gloves.
- Stare idly out of the window as we stop at Bletchley, I know I'm getting off at the second stop.
- Shake my head and slap my cheek in disbelief as we approach the second stop: "We are approaching Milton Keynes Central where this train terminates."
- Heart pounding, I grab my bag and flee from the iron monster, dashing up the steps to the ticket barrier.
- Pausing to find my ticket, neatly tucked into my mobile phone cover. My mobile phone. My mobile... NOOOO!
- Feverish handbag empty returned nil results - no phone.
- Stuttering with shock, I gulp my sorry story to the official at the barrier. My phone. And ticket. "That train is here for another 18 minutes," he said. "Go down and pick up your phone." One piece of good news, anyway.
- Flying back down the steps, I punched the door open button unsuccessfully. Four conductors approached, intent on sorting this wild woman out. Hearing the story, they unlocked the carriage and returned my phone while I babbled away about my awful day - I was meant to be in Berkhampsted, miles away in the opposite direction.
- Roaring back to the ticket barrier, I asked the official about getting back on track. "The train you just came in on is leaving in 9 minutes. Get back on it and it'll take you where you want to go." For heaven's sake!
- Back down on the platform, shakily lowering myself onto a platform bench, panting, I looked up as one of the helpful conductors came over. "Sit tight, love, we're shortening this train then will pull up to the platform. Hop on and you'll be in Berkhampstead in 20 minutes." I could have hugged him!
All that remained was to let my friend know I was running late, and why.
She understood, claiming to do this all the time. Her kind assurance worked so well that on the journey I gave myself a stern talking to and decided to forgive myself for a bit of silly carelessness with no harm done. Groundbreaking stuff for me, I tell you.
Happily united with my friend, we trotted off to our first stop - Berkhampsted Castle ruins, beautifully covered in snow. I pull out my camera, ready to change the settings to accommodate the pristine whiteness.
Fortunately, phones have cameras and we were so happily nattering away that photography took a backseat anyway.
Kindly and understanding my friend may be, but she insisted on seeing me off on the correct train later, reminding me that it was only two stops and not to fall asleep and miss mine! Her faith in my train catching abilities isn't 100%.
PS: for the record, the platform closest to the ticket office and station building at Leighton Buzzard is platform 4. Platform 1 is the furthest platform away. Which wally arranged that numbering system?!
And thus far (touching all sorts of wood here) I have never, ever lost a phone or left anything on a train, plane or automobile. It was just one of those days.
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