Nightmare

Please feel free not to read a word of this entry. OK – so you’re actually free not to read a word of any entries on this site. But this one is particularly unworthy since it’s really to get something off my chest – a hideous journey home last night.
I’m out with friends in Clapham and leave at around 10.50pm getting to Clapham Common tube station at 11.05pm. I know this because I’m aware that this gives me plenty of time to reach Kings Cross station for my 00.06 train home.
I glance up at the electronic indicator board to see when the next train is, but for northbound trains it isn’t displaying anything. The southbound board does indicate trains, but to be honest lack of information isn’t all that unusual, and I stroll down the platform to take a seat. There are very few people there. Pubs are just beginning to close up, and in any case, Clapham’s more of a bar sort of place, and they’ve probably got another hour or so. Indeed when the first southbound train arrives, it disgorges lots of people who look like they’re still intent on having fun.
Then the indicator board puts a train up. It’s due in 13 minutes. That’s a long time. I do some mental arithmetic and realise that I should still reach Kings Cross where I have an overground train to catch, with plenty of time to spare. For a moment it occurs that it might be preferable to head up to the top and jump on a bus towards Stockwell since it’s only two stops away and I change lines there. But I don’t really know Clapham that well and I certainly don’t know which bus I’d need to catch. Anyway, it’s 12 minutes now, so it’s not so long to wait. A couple more people have joined me on the platform.
I’m passing the time away listening to music, when the indicator board flashes CORRECTION and goes blank. Maybe the train’s only a couple of minutes away? More southband trains pull in, empty lots of young people intent on having fun on a Friday night, and pull out.
The board remains blank, and there’s no rush of wind, or hint of oncoming lights to show an imminent arrival on my line.
But then the board flashes back into life. 13 minutes! It’s groundhog day! It’s now 11.15pm, and I now have to wait until half past for a tube. It’ll be tight, but I can just about do it. Two stops to Stockwell, jump onto a Victoria Line train and if it looks iffy when I get to Kings Cross, I’ll stay on until Finsbury Park where the journey from underground to overground is shorter and I can probably just meet the train. In fact it’ll be fine. When the train arrives at half past, I’ll still have the better part of 45 minutes to get to Finsbury Park and catch my overland train home. I had been hoping to pick up a takeaway at Kings Cross as I’m famished. But to be honest, the thought of missing the midnight train and having to wait a full hour until the last train is something that really doesn’t appeal to me.
But I’m dreaming. I’m still sitting at Clapham Junction and it’s now 11.25pm. At least the minutes are now ticking down.
Slowly.
I’ve just compared my watch with the minutes on the board. And the ones on the board are going slower. What’s more, we’ve seen about six trains head southbound so far, and none have felt the need to return. It’s only half a dozen or so stops down there. Surely one of them could have been turned around by now?
The platform’s getting really crowded now. Those places that do shut at 11.00pm have cleared out their clientele. And seating is at a premium. There are some “characters” around. I’m trying to remain calm.
Now the board’s switched off again with just two minutes to go. But here’s the train. It’s 11.36pm. It’s still doable.
In the carriage it’s standing room only but in no time we’re at Stockwell where it’s a quick trip across the platform to see…
… a Victoria Line train shut its doors and leave.
OK – no problem. The Northern Line was obviously playing up, but it’s not midnight yet, so Victoria Line trains should be reasonably regular. The board is saying nothing. Then it pings into life.
13 minutes.
You’re kidding? Nope. So another 13 minutes go by as I stroll up and down the platform purposefully. At 11.55pm a train finally rumbles into the platform. Nearly an hour after I started this trip I am precisely two stops away from where I began. I start doing some more mental arithmetic and realise that I’m screwed. There’s no way I can make my train from any station. When we reach Kings Cross, the train I wanted to catch has gone about three minutes ago. I went up to check, but it had. There was no way I was going to make the connection further down the line at Finsbury Park. And if I’m going to have to kill an hour somewhere, it’s better to do it at Kings Cross than Finsbury Park. Sure, you have a selection of people with interesting lines of employment, but I picked up a copy of The Guardian (with free Groove Armada CD) and settled down to a leisurely Burger King meal.
My 01.06 train departed on time and surely now my horrible evening was over. The trains at that time of night don’t stop everywhere so that speeds things along. We pulled into Palmer’s Green and stopped. And waited. And, isn’t that the driver walking down the middle of the train past me?
After ten more minutes, the driver was back, and talking to us over the intercom (which was more than the station attendants at Clapham Common had bothered with when we’d waited over half an hour for a train). It seems that some of the doors aren’t working, and the only way to alert the driver is to pull the emergency cord. He’s fine with us doing this, although he does have to reset the cord each time.
In the carriage in which it was pulled.
But my journey very shortly is at an end, because we reach Gordon Hill with no more incident. It’s 01.40am. Door to door this trip across London has taken the better part of three hours. But finally I can go home, to bed.


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