David's Daily Diversions

Public Transport

Yesterday, Mrs H and I took Abby to the US Embassy in London to get a Consular Report of Birth and apply for her US passport. We almost didn't make it.

Because of the cost of petrol, cost of parking, London congestion charge, and general chaos of driving in London, we decided to take the train. You can get from Hooterville to London by train via two different routes. One is cheaper than the other by £8, so it seemed reasonable to take the less expensive way. Wrong.

We had to change at Worcester Foregate. The train we were suppose to change to arrived at the station shortly after we did. However, to change platforms at Foregate with a pram requires taking a lift down to a subway and walking under and taking another lift up. The lifts will hold two prams. We were not the first in the queue for the lift, nor second, nor third. Our train left while we were still on the other platform.

Our appointment at the Embassy was for 2:00. Our original travel plans put us at London Paddington by 12:45. The next train to London didn't leave Foregate until after 1:00. But there was hope in sight. We took the train to Worcester Shrub Hill to catch the 11:08 Paddington.

Now we were going to be there at 1:30. A very tight squeeze, but we could still get there on time. Wrong.

The 11:08 doesn't go to Paddington these days, due to work being done on the tracks. We were told we should know that, because it had been posted at the station for days. The 11:08 now goes to Swindon, where we had to catch another train for Paddington. This put us at Paddington at 1:57. Not enough time to get to the Embassy by 2:00.

But this is the reason God gave us mobile phones. After an extended registration process to be able to put money on the phone, which took two calls, I rang the Embassy to explain our situation. After being put through to the US Citizen Services section, no one would answer the phone. It took ten minutes before anyone would answer. Fortunately, they didn't seem fussed that we were going to be a little late, but advised us to take a cab to get there ASAP.

It was Mrs H's first London cab, so I suppose it was worth the extra cost.

The experience at the Embassy was actually much better than we had with Aidan two years ago. Back then, it took all day. Because of the appointment system now in place, we were out of there in a couple of hours. We met a nice couple who are moving back to Wisconsin in four months. They will need to buy a snow plow. I didn't envy them.

We thought we might take the Tube to Paddington (since we had paid for it with our rail ticket). When we made it to the bottom of Marble Arch station at about 5:00, the trains were packed. An earlier disruption on the line meant that usually sardined Central Line trains were packed even tighter. There was no chance we were going to get on the Tube any time soon, so we ascended to the real world and wandered around Oxford Street for a while, sometimes in the pouring rain, thinking that we didn't need to be back at Paddington until the 7:18 to Hooterville.

We had a nice dinner at Garfunkels. We contemplated how we would get back to Paddington and decided to take one of the many buses with "Paddington" displayed. First we weren't sure which direction we needed to go, and the locals we asked were equally divided on which direction Paddington was.

Once we determined we were on the correct side of the street, we couldn't find a stop for the Number 23. Time started getting short. The 7:18 is the last train to Hooterville. We started looking for a taxi instead of a bus. Yet somehow, one minute there are taxis everywhere and the next there is not one to be found. Finally, we stumbled upon a bus stop for the Number 23. But you can't buy a ticket on the bus.

As the bus approached I found the ticket vending machine, which of course requires change. Digging around in my pocket, I found two pound coins - then the machine rejected one of them. The bus and it's very impatient Afro-Caribbean driver were waiting as I wrested the second ticket from the machine. We didn't know how irritable he was until later when someone tried to get on the bus when it was stopped but not at a bus stop. He shouted out a stream of sexual profanity, though it didn't seem to phase his London-hardened passengers.

We got to Paddington with moments to spare - or so we thought. When we walked in, there were too many people standing around for 7:15 in the evening. Then we found out that there had been no trains running for over an hour. Points failure in Southall. Fourteen platforms and no trains.

As trains started coming in and their outbound destinations were posted on the electronic boards, great masses of people rushed for them. Ours was the last of the trains in the backlog. We had to run from the area of platform 6 to platform 14. We made it in time and found seats. We should be able to sit tight all the way to Hooterville. Wrong.

At Oxford, we were told that we would have to move to the front three carriages of the train, as the back three would not be proceeding. So we bundled everything out onto the platform and up to the front of the train. Then they announced that in fact it was the back three carriages that would be going on. So everyone got up and pushed toward the doors to get off the train. But the doors never opened. Then they announced that, no, it was in fact the front three carriages. So everyone shuffles back to find seats. Finally, we left Oxford.

We got as far as Moreton-in-Marsh when they annouced that there had been a signal failure and we had to wait for the train coming in the opposite direction to pass us before we could go anywhere. It was about this time that we changed Abby into the last nappy we had.

They said it would just be about six minutes. They were wrong. Eventually we got to Hooterville about 11:30. The station was closed, so there was no one to open the gate to let us across the the tracks (we couldn't get the pram up and over the top). Fortunately the train driver had to turn the train around, so he took us up the track a ways and back to the nearside platform.

We had left our car at a nearby garage to get the MOT done, but despite the fact that it is just a short walk from the train station, Mrs H insisted on taking a taxi because it involved going down a small dark road into the industrial estate. So after two minutes and another £3.50 (10% of the cost of a train ticket all the way to London) we got our car.

It was a very, very long day.