Commuting

So I was a bit late home last night. I left work later than anticipated at about 6.45 and made my way to the Tube. I checked before I set out and all was well, but by the time I was part way home on the Northern Line we got the announcement that there were no trains between Finchley Central and High Barnet. Again.

It seems the weather was to blame, which is not unusual this time of year. We have all heard the excuses of it being the “wrong kind of rain” or there being leaves on the track (always a shock in autumn, for TFL and all rail operators, who don’t understand the passing of the seasons). I suppose that for yesterday at least, I shouldn’t complain too much. I was able to get the bus from East Finchley, which added about 20 minutes to my journey, but dispensed with the tiresome trek up the hill from the Tube Station, so swings and roundabouts.

The train driver, not one of the more garrulous of his type, was obviously intimidated by the thought of talking to his passengers. He told us three times at successive stations that the service was suspended between Finchley Central and High Barnet because of a damaged tree caused by a falling train.

Who am I to argue? I should have liked to see that.

Once he realised what he’s said, he clammed up and we got not further updates. Embarrassment, even anonymous embarrassment is a powerful force.

Commuting

So I was a bit late home last night. I left work later than anticipated at about 6.45 and made my way to the Tube. I checked before I set out and all was well, but by the time I was part way home on the Northern Line we got the announcement that there were no trains between Finchley Central and High Barnet. Again.

It seems the weather was to blame, which is not unusual this time of year. We have all heard the excuses of it being the “wrong kind of rain” or there being leaves on the track (always a shock in autumn, for TFL and all rail operators, who don’t understand the passing of the seasons). I suppose that for yesterday at least, I shouldn’t complain too much. I was able to get the bus from East Finchley, which added about 20 minutes to my journey, but dispensed with the tiresome trek up the hill from the Tube Station, so swings and roundabouts.

The train driver, not one of the more garrulous of his type, was obviously intimidated by the thought of talking to his passengers. He told us three times at successive stations that the service was suspended between Finchley Central and High Barnet because of a damaged tree caused by a falling train.

Who am I to argue? I should have liked to see that.

Once he realised what he’s said, he clammed up and we got not further updates. Embarrassment, even anonymous embarrassment is a powerful force.