How not to get to Cardiff

To tell you the truth, I had a bit of difficulty getting to Cardiff. It all started to go wrong when I got to Reading. I missed my train. My phone said it was only 19.21, so I entertained myself by reading Viz (the magazine that's better than nothing) in WHSmith. Then I wandered outside and noticed that the station clock said 19.41. That was the time my train departed! I ran to the platform just in time to see it leave. Oh, no!

I went to the stationmaster and asked him what I should do. He said I'd have to get the 20.11 — there was no other. I couldn't check, because the monitors on the platform were out of order, which was announced now and then as part of the passenger entertainment programme. So I hung about the platform, eating my Japanese edamame bean salad from Marks and Spencer. The 20.11 arrived at the platform with a sign saying it was off to Plymouth.

Plymouth? Was that in Wales? I asked the guard whether the train stopped in Cardiff. "Yes," he said. So I got on. The funny feeling that Plymouth couldn't be in Wales grew stronger as the train pulled out of the station. I asked the "train manager". She was quite amused that I didn't know that Plymouth was in the opposite direction to Cardiff. I wasn't amused to hear that I would have to get off at Westbury, wait an hour and then travel another two hours to Cardiff. I wouldn't get there until midnight!

Eventually the train to Cardiff chugged into the station — only it said Portsmouth Harbour on the front. Portsmouth wasn't in Wales either, was it? I asked the station master again. There seemed to be some confusion as the crew got off. But, yes, it was going to Cardiff.

Paranoid by now, I asked one of the crew, "Are you sure this train goes to Cardiff? I've already been on the wrong train tonight."

"We've all been on the wrong train tonight, love," he replied.

Ah, it was good to be back in Britain.