Humour
This next part is quite long - BUT it is (in my opinion) really funny and worth the read:
(Noh-Key-Say) Stand-up /storyteller; writer, podcaster, fried chicken eater, rugby watcher, basketball tragic https://t.co/ZVamuN76Gg
I’m not quite sure how to explain what’s happened tonight, because it’s still happening - but here goes…At 4:40 p.m., I jumped on a train from London to Edinburgh. It was comfy, it was quiet, and, in hindsight, too good to last…
Around 7:26 p.m., I received an email that my train had been cancelled.
This was a surprise because:
a) I was still on a moving train
b) there had been no announcement on the moving train
About 10 minutes later, the train manager came on the speaker to say they “heard from passengers” (!) that the train had been cancelled and were going to investigate because everything looked fine to them.
Shortly after that, they informed us that the “rumours were true” and the train had been cancelled and would be terminating at the next stop: Preston.
“Where is Preston?” you may ask. Only God and Northerners know. Even the Scots weren’t sure.
So we got off at Preston. Apparently, there was a connecting train to Glasgow we could get that was being held, so we could jump on it.
It turned out that the train was full, so as we arrived, it left. It was around 8 p.m., and we were told to wait for the next train.. at 9:42 p.m.
Preston Station has a few cafes, and they all were shut except for one coffee stall that saw a couple of hundred people on a platform and decided “they won’t need food or hot drink”, so they closed at 9 p.m. No one noticed because, at 8:50 p.m., the train we were waiting for was cancelled.
It turned out there were no more trains “North” after that and, excitingly, no forthcoming information.
Some people stood staring at the screens. Some people queued to ask the one ticket booth worker the same question everyone else was.
No one knew anything.
Around 9:20 p.m., news came down:
Alternative transport has been arranged. Bus? An extra train? Horses?
No.
Taxis. For hundreds of people. To a city 3 and 1/2 hours away.
Except we weren’t all going to Edinburgh, because it wasn’t an express train. Some were going to Glasglow, some to Dundee, Carlisle, and other stops. But all of us queued to be taken away, 3 to 7 people at a time. And if that sounds slow and ridiculous, it was.
Take a moment to appreciate how long the trip to Edinburgh from Preston is, and how long the return journey would be. Think about how big the fare would need to be, and then try and estimate how many various cabs were needed to shift a couple of hundred people off home.
Somehow, I ended up in the last cab with three other strangers, all guys travelling alone. They are probably the correct people to be catching the latest cab in terms of safety. And also the cast of a 70’s British play. The time was now 10:30 p.m. The train was due at Edinburgh at 10:15 p.m.
We left the station, and then he pulled into a petrol station to fill up and “grab some snacks”. Fair enough. The driver then asked us, while holding his Android phone, what the postcode for Edinburgh station was. We said there were two stations. He called his boss.
He explained he is only paid to take us to one station, and that is Edinburgh station. We explained Edinburgh has Waverley and Haymarket, but he probably meant Waverley. He said he would drop us there and only there, as though we were trying to trick him.
After a bit of light banter, we realised we all were staying near the same station. The oldest of our “Cab Team” asked if the cabbie might drop us at our locations since he was getting a flat rate, and he was not, in fact, a train bound by rail lines. The cabbie refused.
So now it is midnight, and I am in a black cab in the middle of nowhere (well, the M6) with three strangers who are all asleep. One is snoring. I’m tweeting mainly to both stay awake and also because I’m worried I went insane somewhere after Stafford, and this is a delusion.
I will probably give some updates, but I also better conserve my phone's battery because, as you can see, there are still 2 hours and 20 minutes to go…
At 12:05 a.m., our cabbie decided to change lanes without indicating and almost crashed into a mini-van overtaking him. So now the two of us passengers who are the oldest, are awake, and we have checked that the cabbie is too. He has not responded, but he has used the indicator.
At 12:37 a.m., we crossed over into Scotland, which was my first time changing countries in a cab. After a couple of “incidents”, our cabbie has pulled into a service station to get a coffee. I have released my grip on the side handle. The other older passenger has gone to the toilet.
To be fair to our cab driver, it is late, it’s a dark highway, and he’s driving a city black cab not meant for this road. It’s not an easy drive, and he’s doing a decent job. Here’s our chariot with the moon in the background.
So the coffee machine was broken. The cabbie has brought two Red Bulls to be safe. The other older guy has got an ice cream. In the grand Kiwi tradition, I’ve bought a bag of jube-like lollies for the cab. We’ve all shopped together, so it’s not a “thing”.
No one else in the cab is keen for 1 a.m. lollies, and that sort of makes sense. This email we have all received is the current talking point.
Things were running smoothly there for a while, but there was some confusion at the turnoff to Edinburgh and we’ve come off the M74 and then accidentally gone back on it, still heading North. We’ve got another chance coming up soon. Otherwise, it’s off to Glasgow.
He’s at the junction, and… he’s nailed it! We’re on the A70, and about an hour out from Edinburgh. Should be there around 3 a.m., which is about twice the time the original train journey was supposed to take.
The A70 is less of a UK highway, and more of a NZ highway in that it’s narrow, dark, full of turns and occasionally just dips. A real motion-sickness nightmare of a road. It also has, I kid you not, a random traffic light in the middle of nowhere.
Very strong 2 a.m. Lost Highway vibes…
I have to apologise to the A70. It turns out we took another wrong turn and ended up on the A72. We’ve now corrected onto the A73. Thanks to the guy following me on Threads who messaged, “I don’t know where you are, but that’s not the A70”. It is a terrifying, if educational, message.
I…the roads closed. Sorry, I should have taken a picture of the sign, but we all sort of were in shock. So now we’re on an insane Postman Pat detour.
Every single one of us now has Google Maps open. The “closed road” sign has really deflated the cab. It’s hard to even remember the train now.
Some of you have pointed out - and I think it’s worth having in the thread - that perhaps. just possibly... throwing money at cab drivers and getting them to drive several hours in the middle of the night… might not be the best contingency plan for Train companies to have.
We’re inside the ring road. So very, very close. Sort of relieved quiet giggles amongst us. Or it’s a shared mania taking over. Then he turns right out of nowhere, and suddenly, we’re in Edinburgh's backstreets. The driver’s GPS has taken him off course again!
I’ve intervened. He’s switched off the GPS. I didn’t yell. I may have said, “I think your GPS may be evil and doesn’t want any of us to see our families again”.
He’s trusted the four of us. It’s his first time in Edinburgh. We’re almost there.
We didn’t quite make it. We sort of did. Everyone’s ok. We just didn’t make it to the station. What happened is we made it to this junction, and the cabbie said he couldn’t drive there, and we pointed out he can. But the conversation broke us all, so we just jumped out.
For those concerned, the cabbie is driving back to Preston tonight. Says he’s fine, and hey, maybe he is. But it’s pretty twisted that he doesn’t get taken care of by either his company or the train company hiring him. Made sure he knew the quick way out of town via a servo.
The other old guy lives within walking distance of where we stopped, one of the young guys also lives close by. The other young guy is from Chile (surprise fact at the end), and so called an Uber straight away.
I took the photo of the sign and had some luck as an Edinburgh Black Cab came round the corner. He said, “Jump in, pal; I’m not being rude, I’m just on the phone to my cousin in America”. I’ve finished this tweet after paying him - end of the journey.
Thanks for being on this journey with me, Twitter. A truly insane odyssey. 5 hours late, 11 hours after I jumped on the train. I’m gonna have a shower and eat something. Let’s never do this again ❤️