Honesty, In This Situation, Leads Nowhere But A Smile And A Flirt Can Get You To St. Pancras Before 22.00
I struggle down three long flights of stairs with an almost unbearable load. Bright pink, almost broken suitcase, practical but huge Nike holdall and a classic patent-white Mulberry bayswater in tow. I have to take the long way to the tram stop in fear of my luggage toppling over down the stairs into some handsome stranger. The time is 18:34. Wow, it has taken me the best part of 15 minutes to get thus far when usually I would be at the train station by now.
But you guessed it, I was late for the train.
A further struggle and I arrive through the automatic doors in a loosely fitted, slouchy white tee under a vintage Pink Soda sequined vest brandishing an interpretation of the American flag, both worn off the shoulder. A pair of thick black leggings with a minute zigzag rainbow thread running up the back tucked into a pair of knee-high, flat black boots. Oh and not forgetting my newly purchased black trilby which, according to a friend is 'a bit indie.'
I queue, as you do, collect my advance tickets and go to the ticket counter in a bid to reason with a stern too-old-to-care woman with badly dyed red hair which failed to cover her full head of grey. To cut a long story short... I was denied getting on the train even when her cold rejection reduced me to girlish tears. Yes, I know, pathetic. So I had to cough up an extra £50 to get to London. Damn Northerners! Oh and to my dismay, I handed the ticket inspector on the train my previous ticket (which was apparently 'not worth the paper it was printed on' according to Miss my-hair-reflects-my-bad-mood) and it was accepted!
The moral of the story, to paraphrase my mother: 'If you miss your train when you're young, pretty and fashionable, DO NOT go to the old woman for help. She'll be jealous. Go to the blokes on the platform. They'll have sympathy because you're young, pretty, fashionable and missed your train.' - Thank you mother, I'll try to bear that in mind.