No Slow Train Coming

At some point yesterday afternoon, there was a landslide that covered a section of the East Coast Mainline between Stonehaven and Montrose.

As I understand things, ScotRail became aware of the problem around 4pm.

I arrived at Aberdeen railway station at 4.30pm, intending to catch my usual 4.41pm train home to Montrose. I was allowed to board the train as normal, and as usual it was fairly close to being full, with only a few seats free.

No announcement was made to tell passengers there was a delay until 4.50pm, and at that point we were informed that this was simply a delay.

At around 5.30pm we were told to get off the train as substitute buses would be running from Dundee onwards, and that separate buses would transfer passengers to Stonehaven, Montrose and Arbroath as required.

The announcements made over the station tannoy system were inaudible, leaving hundreds of passengers milling around the station concourse, joined each minute by new arrivals unaware of the problems.

Finally, all passengers bound for Edinburgh and Glasgow were urged to move outside (into the pishing rain) to queue for substitute buses. Everyone else was informed they should wait in the station.

Having waited until 6.30pm, I went out to seek further information. I asked a ScotRail employee whether any buses were running to Montrose, to be told "Oh, it's just left".

No announcement was made to the scores of passengers inside the station. There were still hundreds of people queuing on Guild Street in the rain, waiting for buses they were assured were "on the way".

I decided to stay in the queue, in case another Montrose-bound bus should appear unnanounced. While waiting, I got talking to the three people beside me, who were trying to get to Edinburgh.

At around 7.45pm, one of the women I was talking to set off to find more information. She returned around 8pm to inform me that a member of ScotRail staff was gathering a group of Montrose-bound passengers to travel in a taxi.

Thankfully, I managed to grab a space in the taxi, which left Aberdeen at 8pm, three-and-a-half hours after I had first arrived at the station, and I finally got home just after 9pm.

It is safe to say that I have never had the misfortune to deal with a company as disorganised, poorly managed and generally useless as ScotRail. At least three members of staff in Aberdeen station were truculent, moody and sarcastic when asked for information.

If the company is stripped of its operator's licence, it won't be a moment too soon.

Of Hiccups, Monster Bobs and Visas

The dust is finally settling on a fairly hectic weekend and I'm almost able to keep my eyes open long enough to post, so I'll try to collect my thoughts.

Friday's working day culminated in a leaving night for a fellow employee, and the drink was flowing freely at the start of the evening. My recollections of events are hazy, but I'm told that my Elvis impersonation kept my colleagues amused.

Thankfully, I had the sense to bail out before things got too messy, and instead subjected the passengers on the Aberdeen to Montrose train to a spectacular bout of hiccups that lasted for the duration of the journey. These hiccups were more like sonic booms, and were so loud that I could hear them above Definitely Maybe cranked up full blast on the Magic Tune Box.

Having arrived in Montrose, I decided that food was required, and treated myself to a pizza. The first bite removed removed several layers off the interior lining of my mouth, and in shock I managed to spill molten cheese on both my hands. All in all, a fairly eventful post-pub meal.

After staggering from the pizza shop to Dungroanin', I managed to scare Pepper, Mrs Wife's rabbit, half to death, then retreated to bed.

Unfortunately, Saturday dawned for me at the early hour of 7.30am. Unable to get back to sleep, I settled on the couch, wrapped in a fake fur throw, and allowed my hangover to build up a head of steam.

What I found out later in the day was that a combination of hail, snow, horizontal rain and howling winds, mixed with the standard of football offered up in an end-of-season Angus derby, is enough to shift even the most stubborn of hangovers.

Though the match wasn't dire, the standard of refereeing, in a league renowned for atrocious officials, was honking, and the man in black's performance was enough in itself to deny Montrose a confirmed play-off spot. For a week at least.

And so Saturday night started with me shivering, attempting to restore my core body temperature to something above freezing and preparing for a second consecutive night on the lash.

I believe a good time was had by all, with most of the assembled crowd enjoying their first visit to Roo's Leap. This vast amount of food was washed down with a few civilised drinks....

....Which doesn't really explain how I ended up finally going to bed at 6am, having woken the whole house with an impromptu didgeridoo solo.

My body clock must still be on British Winter Time, because I awoke at 8.30am, unable to do anything but doze fitfully until my lift to Dundee arrived. Why Dundee? To take in the Dundee United v Rangers SPL match, one of the more entertaining games I've been to this season, albeit one in which the final result left a lot to be desired. But no team can expect to go behind three times and still win a match.

A long day at work on Monday was followed by a trip north to Ellon, where Mrs Wife acquired her second rabbit, a bouncing boy now known as Dylan (in tribute to Robert Zimmerman, not The Magic Roundabout).

Introducing Dylan and Pepper has been a high-tension affair. Pepper is no longer in possession of her womanly organs, but Dylan still has a full set of boy bits, and he's eager to use them. So far, as Pepper has investigated this newcomer, she's smacked him around the nose a few times and attempted to give him a warning nibble on the nose. But Dylan seems to take this as foreplay, so there may be testing times ahead.

Yesterday, the 28th anniversary of my arrival on this planet, saw Mrs Wife and I venture south to Edinburgh, with the intention of collecting our Chinese visas. Unfortunately, the Chinese Consulate is an awkward beast, and no amount of discussion or offers of cash would tempt them to process the application in a single day. Which means that I'll have to make a return journey next week.

So, a busy weekend means I'm pretty shattered and looking forward to a few evenings of realxing on the sofa to recuperate.

I must be getting old.

Sleep No More

The end of this week also marks the end of my days amongst the poor car-bound souls making their way slowly into Aberdeen each morning of the working week.

With my employer all set to move to a new city centre office in June, the time has come for me to sell Jagger, my trusty automobile companion, and join the ranks of those taking Virgin's red and silver train into the city instead.

Some of you may wonder why my car is named Jagger. Jagger follows on from Jimi, the first car I used for travelling to work in Aberdeen back in 2003, back when I worked for A Major Engineering Company.

Jimi, a small Rover Metro with two doors and four gears, was an idiosyncratic little beast, prone to bouts of unusual behaviour and erratic performances. Sadly, Jimi is no longer with us, gone to the great garage in the sky.

In comparison, Jagger is a more reliable but slightly less exciting individual, albeit worth a lot more than Jimi.

Anyway, names for cars aside, Thursday will see me sell Jagger to a new owner and invest a substantial portion of my annual salary in a year-long rail pass.

Unfortunately, what this also means is that lie-ins, even for five minutes, will be out of the window. If I'm driving to work and I sleep in, I can make up the lost time on the dual carriageway. But if I sleep in once I've become a proper commuter, the snooze button won't be a viable option.

There may be trouble ahead.