Trains, pains and disfunctionals

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Made my way to Brighton yesterday for a congratulatory coffee with number one daughter who had successfully battered her way through the various interviews and tests to get herself on the HR Management track for the NHS. I was hardly on the train for a couple of minutes before I found myself wondering how on earth I managed to do a longer journey for six hours every day five days a week. No wonder I was tired all the time!

Being on a train, especially one run by certain south-coast based train companies is probably God's way of reminding humans of the plight of battery chickens. if that were not bad enough you are also required to stay in close proximity to other travellers and quite frankly, this is often way too close for comfort. I have a suspicion that rail companies employ a gaggle (or a more plausible collective noun might be a scream) of dis-functional families whose primary role is to join crowded trains armed with push chairs, loud children and wherever possible large dogs and then create as much disruption as possible. If the group is one of the more experienced it will consist of five humans, and one or two animals, a large push chair and a variety of baggage, plastic bags and assorted containers. The more advanced groups are now experimenting with larger consumer goods, with plasma TV strapped to the push chairs and office chairs not being unusual.

The disfunctionals will have two adults, one male and one female, or two females are not unknown (two males are rare). Two young children aged between six and twelve, often both female usually called something like Madonna-Louise or Allegra-Heliotrope and a small child usually in the pram or permanently attached to mum whose main job is to ensure that within a one meter radius of him or her there is a ground zero composed of Cheesey Wosits, half opened sweets, leaking bottles of fizzy drinks and various bodily fluids. The older children will be charged with the important task of wandering around the train, trying to climb the chairs and visiting the loo as much as possible, especially if it the type with automatically opening door.
Word of warning to the traveller here since the door will almost certainly open while one of the children is on the loo, on no account sit near the toilet door. Even if you are lucky enough to be on a disfunctionals free train, it is a racing cert that someone else will use the loo, forget to lock the door and when another would be user presses the open button, be revealed seated on the throne like some badly conceived Raymond's Revue Bar act from the 1980s.

Meanwhile mum will be doing her bit to add to the chaos by initially texting some friend or other, pausing only to supply the baby with more ammo to smear around it before the tradition shouting at the kids. If the children are sub-teen, there is an opportunity to scream at them when they emerge from the toilet that they have failed to pull trousers, tights, knickers etc into place and may become the target of the roaming gangs of paedophiles that mum seems to be convinced are on the train. A real expert will follow this by stuffing a hand down her own trousers or skirt at the back to adjust a badly positioned g-string or knicker leg. She may also use the opportunity to expound on what she would do to paedoes, while the male studies the 17 year topless model on page three of his tabloid. “Busy Bethan, 17 is totally upfront about her life!” reads the headline above a young women dressed as a schoolgirl and sucking an oversized lollipop.

By now most travellers will be wishing the disfunctionals dead and one or two will be considering doing the job themselves. If you are really out of luck, an older couple will have tried to engage with the children who have gathered round the oldsters with a curiosity similar to that of velociraptors to their prey or Japanese tourists to practically anything. Grandma and Grandpa may will find themselves fielding questions that range from “Why are you so old” (Their grandparents if known are probably no more than fifty.) to “So do you still have sex? Bet you don't!” If the couple are lucky they may be saved by mum screaming at the kids to leave them alone - adding that they too could be paedophile conference she is sure is taking place on the train. This is an accusation the oldsters may be happy to accept after ten minutes of hostile and personal questions for the children.

Eventually, either they will get off, or you more likely in an effort to save your sanity, you will! Not at your stop of course but even a dark and cold platform somewhere on the south coast can seem welcoming after the company of Madonna or Allegra. Half an hour later another train arrives; you settle down and are just relaxing when you hear “Oi, Chardonnay-Louise if you are going for a pee you make sure you pull your g-string up after! And you watch out for them bleddin; paedos. Makes me sick it does! Darren, you gonna be staying on that page 3 forever then? Somebody wipe Bonaparte-Lee's nose will you, he's dripping all over the place!” There is no escape!