It's not all that usual to visit foriegn lands without using a plane from our little isle, but due to time constraints and costs, thats exactly what Girlpants and I decided to do this time. Early this morning, we packed our bags, had a good breakfast, even prepared a cold lunch with obligatory bottle of chilled wine for our travels, then made our way to the train station where we bought 2 return tickets to Waterloo, and waited in good time for our train.
Where we were greeted by a packed train. Too many people in too little space as once again, the authorities that be had sold too many tickets for what was clearly a much demanded service. Despite people standing, there were also some tickets on empty booked places (the British never being ones to get in others seats) which made me feel that either they had missed their train or had taken one look and refused to have got on, which I silently thanked them for being bad time keepers as Girlpants and I lent back into their allocated seats. In the midst of the carnage, where holiday makers and backpackers jostled for luggage space around the swarth of surfboards that stuck out of the luggage racks, the train conductor made an announcement, apologising for the service, the global warming within the carriages and the complete lack of staff on the train due a colleagues marriage with free bar the day before, resulting in staff either not turning up at all, or turning up and clearly being unable to drive a train.
This also meant a complete lack of buffet being served to the masses as the chef was helping the conductor check tickets. No sandwiches, snacks or food avaiable on a train that was advertised as family friendly. To compensate, GWR put crates of soft drinks and water out for the thirty masses, which was quickly consumed by chavs and student parties, who stuffed as much free drink into their bags within a ten minute timescale. Over the years, we've made it a rule never to take buffet cars for granted, so Girlpants and I watched this, from the sanctity of anothers seat, quietly drinking our vino and then tucking into our H-D club sandwich.
The price of our smugness was the confiscation of our tickets when we arrived at Paddington, being then told to buy more for our onward journey, followed by the predicable outrage. I sat back in the shade whilst Girlpants went purple and argued his cause, discovering that the happy chef who jovially checked the ticket stubs also forgot to tell us to change at Reading for our onward journey. Fast forward Girlpants grump, a mad rush, then the Bakerloo line, and we finally made it to le Eurostar and aircon. What a change - there was less than a five minute wait to check in and have the bags checked, whilst once again, ye olde underwear set alarm bells and some poor youngster had to check my sweaty armpits for nail files and guns thanks to my underwire bra. A short queue later, and Girlpants was horrifed to find French authorities giving our passports a cusory check before waving us on (Girlpants - "What!? Not even scanned??"). Whilst I saw the irony in the French nation having a foothold in Waterloo, I didn't care because it was efficient. The ticket system was throughly updated so the operators knew exactly how many were on the train, tickets were checked before we even set foot on the escalators which took us directly up to the train platform and carriages and then, the train smoothly left. On the dot. To the second. On time.
When did the British rail system go so wrong? Was is because we were sold out by the man with a handbag? Or do we only think back to the reliable days of Miss Marple and the Railway Children? There's no doubt that in comparison with the Eurostar, the British train loses out. Even the British trainspotters are a dying breed, rarely seen at the end of platforms, as they've given up the ghost. Whilst les toilettes had no toilet paper (thank God for handy tissues), the seats were uncomfortable and there wasn't much space to strech in, compared to the GWR journey, our questions were answered, we knew our connections and we were in Brussels in less than 2.5 hours. Add in plus 40 minutes, we were settling into our Leuven hotel as even the local train left on the dot.
Just give us 20 minutes, we'll be having our first beer. Viva le Eurostar!