write.as/jonbeckett

Once again, I find myself sitting in a hotel room on the outskirts of Preston, Lancashire to work at a nearby office throughout the week. Once again I have survived the train journey, and once again I have a story to tell – quite a good one this time.

The journey began with a panicked departure from the house at lunchtime. Moments before leaving the door our eldest daughter shouted down the stairs something about Google not being there any more. I ditched my bags and ran up the stairs to look. She had been the proud owner of the old Macbook for a little over 12 hours, and had somehow managed to install malware into Google Chrome – quite a feat, given that she doesn't have an administrator account. I told her I didn't have time to fix it, but it was probably harmless (it was showing a PDF converter ad above the Google logo).

Anyway... I raced off down the road, pulling my rubbish suitcase behind me. Actually – strike that – it was my other half's suitcase before it became mine for these recent work journey. That makes it over 15 years old, so I guess I shouldn't complain so much about it – it's still in pretty good condition. It does have an incredibly annoying design flaw though – it's top heavy, and the wheels are not close enough to the corners. As you try and tow it behind you along footpaths, it tips over ALL THE DAMN TIME.

I made it to the first train in time, and found a seat. The first couple of hours of the journey were completely uneventful – changes of trains worked, the Underground trains ran without issues, and I even managed to get to the unreserved carriage of the train to Preston ahead of the descending mob – bagging a table with an electric outlet in the process. A pretty Japanese girl sat down opposite, and we thought we were going to have a lovely journey together.

Wrong.

A few moments before departure a retired couple appeared out of nowhere, and set about re-arranging everybody else's suitcases in the storage rack to accommodate their own. After that, he sat down next tome, and leaned into me straight away – legs, elbows, shoulders... he really didn't care about personal space at all. He looked like a retired math teacher – neat sleeveless shirt, cropped hair, horn rimmed glasses, and a very loud, clear voice whenever he spoke.

After he settled / took over the table, his wife arrived. Perhaps 55, with a shock of dyed, permed hair, and dripping with jewellery that was intended to be seen. Her immediate conversation (while propping her handbag in the middle of the table, in everybody's way) was that the girl checking tickets on the way onto the train had the cheaper version of her watch – which she waved across the table to show her husband – and anybody else that might notice her waving around like a satellite television saleswoman.

“Which was is the train going to go?”

“That way” (her husband pointed behind her)

“So I'm sitting backwards? Oh no. I'm going to have to swap with you.”

He mumbled something about her being “bloody annoying”, slammed his book shut, and lumbered away from me. I had personal space back for a few moments! It turns out she was worse than her husband.

A young woman appeared just as the train began rolling with a sizeable suitcase.

“Do you mind if I re-arrange the suitcases so I can fit mine on?”

“NO! DON'T TOUCH MINE!” Mrs “can't sit backwards” barked. I almost shook my head – so it was fine for them to pull everybody else's bags out and throw them around, but not ok for anybody to touch their bags? I was beginning to dislike them more and more – and I had never spoken a word to either of them.

She sat doing a crossword for the first half of the journey – reading every clue out loud, and elbowing me every time she wrote an answer in.Thankfully – after an hour or so – she fell asleep. I know she fell asleep because she started snoring. At one point she snorted and woke herself up. He said nothing. I would have laughed. I nearly did.

I got on with reading my book, and before too long the train manager announced our imminent arrival in Preston. You can imagine who made damn sure they were first off the train – unpacking their suitcases into the aisle and completely blocking it.

The Japanese girl and I quietly got up after they left, and smiled at each other. I don' t think she spoke much English at all, but we had just shared two hours of the same hell. Perhaps adversity builds the most unlikely friendships...