The 8.32am First Great Western train from Portsmouth to Fareham has become the bane of my life recently.
In my time I’ve encountered road rage (my car was rammed by a tractor of all things and I spilt my Starbucks all down my new dress!), followed by bike rage (two bikes stolen in one week).
Then I even had postie rage (the postman scarpered before I had chance to get dressed and I then had to go all the way to the main post office just to find out that my parcel was actually a bottle of Lucozade).
Well now folks. I have just had an attack of train rage. Yep, that morning choo-choo has really made me mad.
As you can imagine, at that time of the day it’s busy with commuters going to work. Unlike myself who was off to see to my equine friend stabled in Fareham.
Anyhow, the train pulled into Fratton Station and I jumped on with my bicycle.
There were two bikes on already and a young lad followed me on with his.
There was still plenty of space, but then a guard appeared and told the young man to remove his cycle as there were three on board already.
Now I travel frequently and there have been many times when there have been at least six bikes on and no-one has said anything.
But Mr Jobsworth wasn’t having any of it. He told the lad to remove himself and his bike from the train.
I can understand health and safety rules and all that, but surely there is a way to speak to someone without being so unpleasant?
The following week I was waiting for the same train again. This time I was the last one to board and I didn’t even get through the doors.
I was actually half-way on when the lovely guard shut the doors on me and I got jammed half-on half-off.
He then saw what he’d done and released the doors.
But by that time I had more steam coming out of my ears than Thomas the Tank Engine and shouted a few expletives at him. He just shut the doors.
Do you know what? From now on, I will be making my journey via the Gosport ferry instead.