The Hand of God

In 1986, before he snorted the entire Colombian coke supply, Diego Maradona helped win an important football match with a Hand of God.

Back in the present, South West Trains are winning their enormous profits (not turnover, no, they make millions in actual profit), with similar declarations of religious basis. 

Fair enough, no one can stop lightning, but you can at least mitigate the problems that happen afterwards. Some people were stuck for several hours and there didn't seem to be any contingency for looking after them. 

Many have reported that South West Trains have refuted their claims for a refund because of God. This was my favourite response and is definitely worth copying and retweeting! Thank you @MHDPartnership for letting me share!

The Montage of Misery expandeth

Happy Mondays one and all. 

Below is an update from the Montage of Misery, which documents the woeful service offered by South West Trains.

Got any to add?! Email me (my6percent@gmail.com) or find me on twitter (@mypercent)

Are you a Baggage Handler

Of late, other than the normal discussions about South West Trains crepe service levels, there has been a lot of chatter about the type of people who commute daily. Are you a Nuzzler? Or perhaps a Scumbag? 

Akin to one of those quizzes you used to get in Just 17 (if you're a bloke - those things your partner used to make you answer!) below is a list of the types of people we see every day.

Massive thanks to those who contributed to this. If your not already following them, you should!

@BigBird01 @monkeybuxton  @clarkerm @suburban_guard  @OllieRoberts07 @womblegirl14  @lk1806  @jdgwarren 

 

 The Whistleblower: Before passengers have even got off the train (let alone ON) this particularly rare breed will have tried to shut the damn doors

The Nuzzler: “When leaning on you isn’t enough, they have to nuzzle your face. Gross” 

The Eternal Optimist:  “a seated passenger gets up ready to leave train at final stop....good luck getting past the 50 by the doors!”

Hells Angels: The bikers on the non-bike trains taking their lives (and potential seats!) into their own hands.

The Palatials: Those paying through the nose to sit in first class and not notice the dozen people squished up against the windows in steerage

Meet the Managers: When 1 page of the FT just won’t do, why not spread your arms as wide as possible. No need to worry about other passengers, you just carry on!

The Unawares: “Oh sorry, did I bump into you in my haste to catch/leave a train?” – a phrase sadly lost on this particular breed who blithely carry on as if no one else in the world mattered

The Loved-ups: Quite why the whole carriage need to see them munch each other's faces is beyond the rest of us

Mr Small Shot: those who want you to believe they are big shot business men doing big deals but don't sit in first class!!

Baggage Handlers: People who think their ticket allows them to use the seat next to them as storage for their bag

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Scumbags:  Those that don't stand for pregnant women

‏Lemmings: People who get on by forcing the doors open at Wimbledon.

Door-Hogs: Those who delay trains by insisting on getting on & of train at door nearest station exit

‏The Sudoku Cheats: We can see you looking at the solutions in the back!

Honorable mention to: 

Snoringbanker, Makeupgirl, ChattyMum, LycraLad, PutTheDinnerOnDad and GapToothGuard

No Heavy Petting

There should be a set of rules for Twitter, bit like those ones you see at a Swimming Pool. It is perfectly obvious that you shouldn't run around those slimy, tiled floors. Yet there is something innate in every child and even in us boring, ageing farts, that implores us to do so. 

No running then, equates to No jumping the gun. A lesson very hard to learn when you're so filled with annoyance at something South West Trains have said/done/under delivered. Maybe you're Mary Poppins (practically perfect in ever way) and never leap before you have looked and have never once had a go without investigating the full facts. Sadly I'm more Dyke. Pun fully intended. I have, on less occasions as time has gone on, jumped in with both size 7's and felt a tad stupid. 

No heavy petting, well no, this is a family show, there's no touchy feely business! So instead we have lots of Heavy Vetting. Or think before you speak. It's all well and good being mightily pissed off at South West Trains. They are really rather rubbish. But as much as I (in more sardonic flow) find the 'you c***,' 'die b***' style of feedback amusing, imagine being the poor chap/chapess who has to filter through that! And I know what some of you will be thinking "Yeah but they deserve it". When what they really deserve is to learn about the failings of their service. Comparing them to a certain part of a female's intimate bits, rather dims that. 

The Montage of Misery continued

Like all other South West Trains commuters, I was caught up in the melee last night. "Lightning better not strike twice" is all I can think of to say on the matter

Here is an updated version of the Montage of Misery, which is growing into quite a diary of events!

"Twenty-two minutes late, badger ate a junction box at New Malden"

Well, it's been a fun week on South West Trains. Rather than try and write a blog on all the woes (of which there were many), I thought I'd leave it up to the fabulous and much-missed Leonard Rossiter in his incarnation as Reggie Perrin.

Excuses for train delays into Waterloo, taken from all series of Reginald Perrin:

Eleven minutes late, somebody had stolen the lines at Surbiton

Eleven minutes late, seasonal manpower shortages, Clapham Junction

Eleven minutes late, staff difficulties, Hampton Wick.   

Eleven minutes late, signal failure at Vauxhall

Eleven minutes late, derailment of container truck, Raynes Park

Eleven minutes late, staff shortages, Nine Elms 

Eleven minutes late, defective junction box, New Malden 

Eleven minutes late, overheated axle at Berrylands 

Eleven minutes late, defective axle at Wandsworth 

Seventeen minutes late, defective bogey at Earlsfield 

Seventeen minutes late, water seeping through the cables at Effingham Junction - there was a lot of Effingham and a good deal of Blindingham

Twenty two minutes late, badger ate a junction box at New Malden

Twenty two minutes late, black ice at Norbiton

Twenty two minutes late, obstacles on the line at Berrylands 

Twenty two minutes late, fed up by train delays, came by bike. Slow puncture at Peckham 

Twenty two minutes late, escaped puma, Chessington North

Need I really say anymore?!

Passing the time

As it would seem likely that you'll be delayed this evening I thought I'd write some handy things to do whilst you wait.  

Look out the window. Today I saw two kids on a roof playing tennis. I also saw three people pick their nose and one woman look so enraged I thought steam would come out of her ears, Drop Dead Fred style. 

Moan. But make it clean. No one wants a Grace Dent style sacking because they dropped the C Bomb.

Make a new friend. I've tried this several times with varying success. But even the ones who look at you like you're mad are worth engaging, if only to see the look of horror on their face. 

Take bets on how delayed you'll be with a fellow passenger. You could be quids in and unlike the Grand National, no competitors will get shot. 

Take on some canapés and share with those in your carriage. Perhaps you might even be able to bribe yourself a seat. 

Read a book. Plenty of time to kill. I can strongly suggest the new Stephen King book, by the way. 

Most importantly, gerrome safely!