Illiterate Travellers, Architecture and Beer and A Drugged Touch of Shakespeare

Last Thursday I had to once again arise from the sprung edge 4 drawer divan at an early hour. For once this was not an unwilling awakening as I was to set off  on a visit to another big city, this time to the lush western climate of Bristol. A friend had kindly invited me down for a few days. We were to visit other friends in the area and inspect the architecture of Isembard Kingdom Brunel's passenger shed at Bristol Templemeads station. Train tickets were purchased and seats reserved well in advance so I anticipated no problems as I boarded the train for the first leg of my journey. Fate's fickle train finger once again jabbed me when I was faced with a young woman occupying my seat. She had obviously been squatting there for some time as spread out on my reserved portion of the table was a whole panoply of cosmetic products which she was applying to her face. She seemed surprised and actually offended when I politely informed her that she was sitting in my seat. With bad grace and sighs of exasperation she began to pack up her "slap". It was at this point that I began to feel first guilty and then annoyed and resentful at feeling guilty. There were plenty of empty seats nearby so why did I not take one?  There is an old adage that possession is nine tenths of the law so that was perhaps why I felt in the wrong. My journey involved 2 changes of train and the second  stage did not leave me much time to catch my train. It was with a sigh of relief that I located the correct platform with some minutes to spare. Fates fickle finger had not finished with me though. As the train pulled in several hundred persons suddenly appeared out of the woodwork and crowded onto the platform. Now I am not, dear reader, a follower of equine sports so it had escaped my notice that I had picked the day of a major event in the horse racing calendar. Not only that but my train to Bristol also stopped at Cheltenham which was the location of the big race. Try to imagine a station platform packed with happy racegoers, all of them unencumbered with luggage and all determined  to board my train. I managed to scramble aboard my coach but at the wrong end for my seat. It was standing room only all down the carriage and it was with great difficulty that I made any progress. Several passengers remarked that there was no point in proceeding as there were not any seats left. By now I was getting rather fed up so I replied that there was indeed a seat for me and made a mental note that I damned well was going to get it. Arriving at the seat I saw to my annoyance that the reserved ticket had been removed by the person occupying MY SEAT! Brazenly he had left the reserved ticket on the table in front of him. He even showed no sign of guilt when I asked him to remove his carcase from my seat. What is it with the British public when they blatently occupy a train seat with a reserved sign on it? Are the greater portion of the travelling population illiterate? The race-going squatter even had the cheek to plant his backside on the seat next to me which also had a reserved ticket on it! During the journey to Cheltenham I contented myself with sideways disapproving glances.  At Cheltenham the train emptied and a few minutes later a tired and harrassed looking lady settled in the seat next to me. Like me she had boarded at Birmingham but was overwhelmed by the racing fraternity and only just managed to clamber on the train several coaches away. Since every carriage was packed with standing punters there was no chance of her making any progress.

Nailsea Hospitality

I arrived at Bristol, met my friend Dom and was promptly whisked off on another train to Nailsea where we were met by friend Richard and transported to his local hostelry, It was an interesting pub with an unusual pub sign of a gas heater, proclaiming the equally unusual name of "The Blue Flame" From thence we went to Richard's home where his sainted spouse Barbara made us welcome. Later, other friends who holiday on the same Greek island as myself joined us for a splendid dinner. The evening ended with friend Tricia kindly driving us back to Dom's house.

Admiring Brunel's architecture!

On Friday Dom and I set off to admire the architecture of Brunel's passenger shed at Bristol station. On arrival it transpired that the Bristol Beer Festival was in progress. In order to gain entrance we needed tickets. Fortunately Dom had thoughtfully purchased these in advance. Since the tickets included prepaid beer tokens it seemed churlish not to partake of some ales. We were joined by some of Dom's work colleagues and in order not to look antisocial I was compelled to purchase and consume more ale. Architectural admiration is full of such pitfalls...

The Shakespeare Tavern - "Is this a dagger I see before me?

 

No

 it's a pint of IPA"

Saturday dawned and with it a journey back to the city centre to meet up with my friend, the Blessed Liz who is currently working in Bristol.  Liz is still registered with my local doctor so I had agreed to collect a prescription for her. The drug delivery took place at the Shakespeare Tavern, blatently in full view of the busy street. After a convivial lunch it was time to catch my train to return home. I was relieved by the fact that it would not be full of racing punters this time but dismayed to find that someone had again taken my reserved seat! This was too much! What really annoyed me was the feeling that I was the person in the wrong! There seemed to be a visible police presence on every train home so I was grateful that I did not now possess a suitcase full of drugs. Had there been a sniffer dog my journey may have been rather stressful. Again, I had failed to realise that a Saturday afternoon journey in the football season could be rather crowded. The very last train to my home station was packed with voluble football supporters so it was with relief that I reached Chez Kojak, ready for a pot of tea and the lure of the sprung edge 4 drawer divan.