After being soaked on my morning dog walk, I got dry, went to the gym and then got wet in the shower and then got dry again.
And then I was going into town for an important meeting. I got dressed up in my smart casual wear, feeling quite proud of myself in a new shirt and a jacket that allows me to pretend I am still a man in his forties pretending to be in his thirties. I was driving to Hitchin station to get a direct train down to Blackfriars, which would be a five minute walk from my meeting. I was beating the world. Living in the countryside, but still with a commute that was about as quick as getting there from Shepherd’s Bush.
I needed to factor in the drive to the station of course, and the possibility that Hitchin station car park would be full. I was going in at the exact time where all the commuters have parked up, but no one has yet come home. Would I be lucky and get a space or would I have to find a car park somewhere else and walk in? I played it cautiously, setting off early enough for the latter eventuality.
Rain was pouring down as I drove through the countryside to the metropolis of Hitchin. That can’t be good, I thought. More people will have driven to the station, even those town dwelling pricks who would usually walk.
And sure enough I went all round the car park and the only spaces were for those elite commuters who pay to hire a space near to the entrance. So I had to drive up the road and was about to find out how waterproof my new jacket is. It is made of material that looks like it should be waterproof.
It is not waterproof.
I was soaked through before I’d even bought my ticket to park. Then I had to run for 8 minutes to get to the station. I was still in good time for the train, but I wanted to get into the dry as soon as possible. But 8 minutes of running through the rain, even for someone as speedy as me (allowing me to dodge many of the raindrops) is enough time to get properly drenched.
I tried to pick up my prepaid ticket at the machines, but my fingers were wet and I had nothing dry to dry them on and I struggled to put in my passcode. What’s the point of buying a ticket online if the process of collecting it is more complex than just buying a ticket while you’re there? How come they can’t just fucking email you your ticket? Well, thetrainline.com, what’s your answer? I suspect it is that you have started bringing in that technology but it’s not across the board yet. Well make it across the board then you idiots. Or at least put a towel on all the ticket machines.
I attempted to dry myself with paper napkins as I waited for my train. The flame of my vanity and been extinguished and I had the confidence and demeanour of a cat that has been dragged through a lake (don’t ask me how I know that). I pictured my bedraggled self sitting in my meeting with steam rising from me as my clothes dried out.
But I managed to slowly go from wet to just damp in the hour or so before the meeting. Which all went smoothly enough.
Got home in time to walk the dog again. Got wet.
RHLSTP with Suzi Ruffell went up today
- my £50 credit now goes into making more podcasts. You can do what you like with yours and with the money you save on your bills.
Please join me tomorrow for my super exciting 6000th consecutive blog. I am going to do something incredible to mark the occasion.