On Saturday I was meant to be singing in Worcester. I had been looking forward to this particular concert, not just because the last concert of the season tends to be quite triumphant, but because we've been rehearsing it for months and I enjoy singing in cathedrals. So, we had a rehearsal on Saturday at Worcester Cathedral from 2.00pm to 5.00pm, then the concert at 7.30pm.
My itinerary for Saturday was supposed to go thus:
11.00 - leave house
12.09 - get on train at Moor Street
13.09 - arrive in Worcester
13.30 - arrive at Cathedral (preferably earlier than this) and be seated
14.00 - rehearsal
17.00 - break to find food
19.30 - concert
22.20 - train home back to Moor Street (with a 20-minute stop in Shrub Hill for some unfathomable reason, but whatever)
And preferably getting home some point after midnight, if not before.
My itinerary for Saturday in fact went thus:
11.00 - leave house.
11.25 - arrive early at Moor Street, buy ticket (£7.00)
11.30ish - decide to get earlier 11.41 train in case of delays on the 12.09 train, as Rowley Regis station has a tendency to flood in bad weather and cause same
11.41 - two-carriage train pulls into station - "not in service".
11.44 - train arrives. Get on train. Sit on train for about five minutes, during which time there is a burbled, indecipherable message over the tannoy regarding a problem which they have not yet identified. Train moves on ahead to Snow Hill.
11.49 - arrive at Snow Hill, where another message comes over the tannoy informing us there is signal trouble at Stourbridge Junction and hence the train has been cancelled. OH JOY. Obviously, the next train is also cancelled for the same reason.
11.55 - I finally manage to read through the message on the information boards at Snow Hill (which never stays up long enough to read the entire thing), which informs passengers that if they require Worcester or Droitwich Spa, they are advised to go from Birmingham New Street
12.15ish - I have finally struggled across Birmingham City Centre to New Street Station, only to discover that the next train to Worcester will not get me there until 13.30, when I'm meant to be at the damn cathedral. Given the trouble so far, I dread to think what might happen if this train is also delayed, think "fuck it", and go home.
My other reasoning behind going home was that even if I did eventually manage to get to bloody Worcester, my last train home would take me into Moor Street, and I have no idea how long signal problems are going to carry on for.
So needless to say, I didn't get to rehearsal and didn't do the concert.
NOT BLOODY IMPRESSED, TRAINS.
You should be very very glad I didn't write this entry as soon as I got home - and believe me, I was very tempted - and have had some chance to mellow. I think perhaps if the weather had been better also - and thus if I hadn't had to traipse halfway across the city centre in a downpour - it mightn't have been so bad. But also, I suspect the trains would have been running perfectly smoothly, too, and there wouldn't have been a problem at all. What pissed me off even more was that they took everyone to Snow Hill BEFORE informing them to go from New Street, which is a 5-minute walk from Moor Street.
I hate stuff like this. Stuff beyond my control, which leaves me feeling angry and frustrated and futile. It's not a feeling I particularly relish nor wanted to experience again (given that was my perpetual state of mind a few years ago when I was at my worst low), and my automatic reaction to the situation was to run away. This seems to be my reaction to stress quite a lot of late - fight or flight, I suppose - but dear GOD, I need a holiday. The temptation to just stick some lovely exotic sunkissed escape onto the credit card and damn the consequences is so incredibly high, except my conscience always wins out. Damn you, conscience.
The thing is that even if I do complain to the train company they'll somehow manage to twist it that it was my fault. Because I could have gone from New Street, or whatever. Which makes me not want to bother complaining, especially given that line is rife with delays and cancellations pretty much every.single.time I try to go on it, in either direction, so complaining about something they clearly already know about isn't really going to help. And, you know, most of the time delays are unavoidable so I can understand that - it just doesn't make it any less embittering.
So yeah, that was shit, and now I'm going to get in trouble with the librarian because my book will be going back late (they needed them in on Saturday), not to mention having to explain my epic overreaction to transportation difficulties - although even if I had eventually got there, I would have been in no fit state to sing for most of the rehearsal, I imagine, from being rushed and stressed.
Anyway. Trains = FAIL.
Sunday was sedate by comparison. The usual. EastEnders and embroidery. We also investigated the new bargain shop at the end of our road, which isn't as bad as anticipated - lots of good deals on all sorts of things, including sweets, so we've been ridiculously unhealthy all weekend. Meh.
Today I had my follow-up appointment at the hospital and everything is fine so I've been discharged. Trying to get to work through Bristol Road traffic wasn't so much fun (probably should have gotten the train, really) and I finally got in at 10.15 or thereabouts. We have been ridiculously understaffed all day (so what else is new - where the bloody hell is everyone?!) and helping out the other side AGAIN. Noor, who normally stays late on Mondays, had to go at 3.30, and I went at 4.00. Fuck it, I've had enough of being the only one willing to stay late, quite frankly. Sandra and Joy were both in anyway, they can do some work for a change.
Cleaning the bathroom on my return home has clearly not mellowed me, sorry. :P