Back on the trains

Long standing readers (why?) may have remembered a few rants about Northern Rail after all the time wasted commuting to Manchester, I didn’t expect to have to moan about the same thing after my first day at work in Leeds which, lets face it, is a little closer.

I got to the station at 745, for the 748 which should have got me to Leeds at about ten past 8 – it was cancelled, the 805 came a few minutes late, then sat outside Leeds station for an age before eventually crawling in at 5 to 9, causing me to have to leg it across town to try and avoid being late on my first day, I won’t even get started on the overcrowding.

I sense lots of fun ahead.

Manchester, la la la

I don’t think there is anything that depresses me more than arriving back in Bradford after an evening out in Manchester (well, apart from maybe flying back to Liverpool from Madrid), there’s just a life and vitality about the place that I love, and walking down Oxford Road still gets me feeling giddy eight years since it first did. I think I know whatever happens I’ll be back there on a permanent basis before too long, even if they have ripped the heart out of Pizza co with the renovations, and the students are looking very young nowadays. Then again, where isn’t more vibrant than Bradford on an evening?

Then again, I’d miss the always fun journey on the last train home. Tonight I was asked, in all seriousness, if I was a spy (because I was reading Private Eye), managed to have a conversation about rabbits and budgies with three girls from Todmorden, who were all insistent I must be a writer due to the fact I was wearing a scarf. Then got to hear a sing-a-long to Ob La Di Ob La Da, I almost forgot the (light-hearted) Roses argument I had with a bloke from Littleborough after I responded to someone saying it was a nice place by commenting that it was on t’rong side o t’ills.

Life doesn’t get much better than that.

The Day I Caught the Train

The journey on the 23:19 from Manchester Victoria to Leeds on a Friday night has always been an interesting experience, it had been a regular part of my life for the 14 months before I buggered off to Spain last November after post work drinking on a Friday afternoon/night and, after heading over to Manchester for a pleasant evenings socialising with former work colleagues I was delighted to get the chance to experience it again, who knows when I may next get the chance.

Usually it’s full of drunks, wasters, scallies and assorted weirdos getting the last train home from Manchester – I know some of them by sight now, they were there last night but luckily the train was packed out with revellers who had just been to see Kylie at the arena, which led to a fun trip despite the, inevitable, delay and the train practically crawling all the way back to Bradford.

Where else in the world would the train journey home be livened up by a carriage loads rendition of the locomotion (with dancing, not by me I hasten to add), other Kylie classics and then a jovial debate on the merits of various Australian pop stars (obviously Kylie comes in behind Rolf Harris and Jason Donovan right?). It was all good fun, for me there can’t be too many friendlier people than your average Northerner on a night out, especially the ones who were staying on after Littleborough!!

Even better, the ticket machines at Manchester Victoria were out of order, and the guard never made his way down the train, so I got all the way back home for free – result or what?!

My Grand Final Hell

With the Bulls not making the Grand Final for the first time in six years I expected yesterday’s trip to Old Trafford for the game to be a relaxing, enjoyable, stress-free occassion.

How wrong could I be?

From the stench of the abbatoir in Bradford, through the ridiculous train delays, the “company” of the worlds most miserable girl on said train to being surrounded by obnoxious, racist, moronic St Helens fans it was pretty much a day to forget, and therefore an experience I am not too fond of repeating.

At least the company of the friends I travelled and attended the game with, and the familiar faces I bumped into during the day, made things a bit more bearable. The curry once we got home was as good as usual too but, if the Bulls aren’t there next year, I’ll probably just watch things on the telly.