Getting There

The peace and quiet of last week had to be paid for up front - not financially, but in time and temper.

First we chose an hour later train, putting a little strain on ourselves to get there at a reasonable time, but it really should have been OK.

Then there were trespassers on the line between Portsmouth and Guildford, and a further, unexplained, delay at Woking and so, what will all the luggage being hefty and my suitcase wheels being buggered, we got to Stratford concourse three minutes before the train we had planned for. And so, it now being 1.30pm we went over to the Pret and got lunch and coffee and sat for a while relaxing and expecting to get on the 14.25.

Except when we got through the ticket barriers, we saw that the 14.25 had been cancelled. I reasoned that the TfL staff on the gate wouldn't know what we should do, and so, knowing how the world works, I went round to the ticket office and waited in the queue for ten minutes behind two girls who were very much in lust with each other and obviously need to get a room (or maybe had had a room all weekend...) None of my business! I finally got to the counter and the guy said "You'll have to speak to Greater Anglia staff on Platform 10". So I smiled and held back my punches while I huffed and puffed back through the ticket barrier to my ever-hopeful wife.

I have to say also that I was feeling conspicuous and not at all well-blended as I was wearing a striped button-down shirt with the Panama hat so beloved of the hated Gammons, with my camera round my neck, so I did not look like my own idea of East London Hip, I just looked like an ageing (probably racist) prat going to Frinton for his hols.

I collected Mrs Davis and the bags and we managed to get what turned out to be the last lift up to Platform 10 for the day. The alarm started going off while we were going up and we were greeted by a TfL man with a key who was closing it down. He also had a laminated sign saying it would be closed until at least 15.30. "We do this everyday, " he explained, "to save power". I resisted the temptation to make comparisons between our beloved country and the former Soviet Union, just for today.

It adds to my suspicion that dark powers are sabotaging the train services so that when they sweep into government, they can, at least, easily make the trains run on time. Because then we just stood on platform 10 for another couple of hours in the baking sunshine. Few meaningful announcements were made. Staff were as poorly informed as we were. Trains started to run again after an hour or so, but there was the usual mix of idiots already on the train and idiot who wanted to get on the train, fighting with each other resulting in the train leaving even later.

We almost squeezed on a couple (like the one pictured above) but it was 16.30-ish before we got one to Colchester, with no idea of whether there'd be a connection to the coast when we got there. All this time I was also messaging with my beloved mother-in-law who was popping in and out of mobile signal between the beach hut and the house. Finally we got to Colch about 17.30 and there was a train for Clacton waiting on the platform which they held for people getting off our train (of which, it turned out, we were some of the fastest). I was then able to estimate a time of arrival at Thorpe-le-Soken and we were picked up by MumCabs from there and driven directly to the Red Lion for a large diet coke and a heaving platter of belly pork with cassoulet and sweet potato fries.

I slept well.