About Platform Four

A to B

I cannot drive. This is a fact which surprises many people, particularly those I meet in my taxi.

The first of those sentences is at least true. Still, given that my dad cannot drive, and nor could his dad before him, I am at least able to pass this off as the dutiful continuation of a family legacy. But, I do like to get about, and to be able to do that, I have had no option but to become a slave to rail-travel, my life’s progress dictated by engineering works and Sunday timetables.

There are two myths about train travel in Britain. The first is that the trains here are rubbish; they are always late and if not late then cancelled and when they do turn up they are always overcrowded. Whilst they could be better, but they’re not a total failure – we are actually served by one of the most extensive rail networks in the world.

But we’re not a people compelled to try and outdo each other with anecdotes of things that have gone well. ‘You once caught a train that had no buffet car and was half an hour late? That’s nothing mine was an hour late and it had no doors’. Unreasonable expectations and little patience on the part of passengers doesn’t help. Where else would the sombre announcement of a fatality on the line be met by sighs, a look at the watch, or an angry tweet to the rail network. It’s a tough crowd.

Those high demands have perhaps been set up by the second myth; that train travel is romantic. The nature of travel on the railways has changed dramatically, where once it was farewell embraces on smoke cloaked platforms, now it’s a teenage couple necking against the luggage rack, while one of their mates films it on their phone. Oscar Wilde once penned the line “One should always have something sensational to read in the train”, his quotation cut short of going on to say, “or a really loud video to watch on your phone, without headphones naturally.”

That sepia-tinged romanticism of train travel has successfully wooed many a television exec. Now of course we have Michael Portillo, trying to make himself heard over his trousers, as he patronises a branch-line guard from the spacious table-seat he somehow always manages to secure. Before him was the eponymous Great Railway Journeys, which showcased railway journeys which were undoubtedly great, if not a little obscure. From Ulan Bator to Pyongyang in conversation with Cleo Rocos; Brian Blessed barks his way from Tbilisi to Tehran.

But if you use trains regularly, it’s hard to equate the reality of rail travel to these on screen depictions. Portillo has never had to shout his whimsical monologue about George Bradshaw above the noise of twenty pissed-up Leeds United fans; Michael Palin is never seen standing all the way to Holyhead because his seat has been double-booked. And so Platform Four is an attempt to bring you rail travel as you know it to be; not La Paz to Montevideo with Sue Pollard, but much more Loughborough to Mansfield Woodhouse with the cast a Channel 5 documentary.

Trains don’t particularly irritate me, but people often do. This will doubtless become apparent as we go forwards. I’ve moved quickly to defend the rail network in this prologue, but I won’t move as quickly to defend people. There are a hell of a lot of oddballs in this world and in my experience the oddest and ballsiest of them usually travel by train, and sit somewhere near me. If you’ve gone cold turkey on reality television, but still need your fix of socially inept opposites and attention seekers crammed into a small space then I suggest you take a train sometime soon. Who needs three months of tasks and phone-ins when it’s all there in front of you in a fifteen minute journey from Doncaster to Thorne North?

So here marks the end of Great Railway Journeys, welcome instead to Grating Railway Journeys. All aboard.