Richard Branson. He who runs our cross country rail services, or at least makes a big show of doing so while he prats around in hot air balloons, the bearded buffoon. The last four big journeys I've made have been on Virgin services. One caught fire from York, another was crammed going to York as some carriages were out of order due to stuck doors. Going down to Oxford the train was late into Brum, leaving us less than 10 minutes to run through New St station with heavy bags, up and down stairs to make the Oxfrod connection. Then last night the train was full even when it got to Oxford, and we faced a three and a half hour journey unable to get to the toilet or snack bar and constantly having to move cases as the luggage racks were crammed full. Everyone was most polite until we got to Sheffield when some fool decided he would rather me run my suitcase over a poor dog's paws than step back to allow us to pass.
None of this happens on the London trains, a decent service not run by that fool Branson.
I also assign the Stalinesque block of accommodation at Somerville College that was like Prisoner Cell Block H, complete with blood stained curtains, paper thin walls and one measly pillow per bed. I can't imagine the disappointment of the new undergraduate arriving expecting medieval splendour in the city of dreaming spires and finding they'd been put up in something straight from Benidorm. Obviously built to give public school Gels that comprehensive school 'experience'.
