Bloody Railtrack bastards! I’ve been waiting all summer for today, which is the Roald Dahl Foundation Open House. It’s up at his home Gipsy House in Great Missenden. It takes forty-five minutes to get there on the train. Well, normally, that is. But today, fifteen minutes before leaving the house, I fortuitously decided to check Railtrack’s website (no link because I hate them) to see what time the next train would leave. It informed me that due to work on the line, my journey would now start at Paddington and take three hours, encompassing two train changes and a bus trip. I couldn’t believe this, so I called their damn number to verify. AARRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH. It was true. And even if we left right now, we probably wouldn’t get there before it ended. So now I’m not going, and I may never get to go again. I hate British Rail. When I hung up the phone with the woman, I felt like Jeannie in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, where she screams in frustration, calls the person a dickhead, and slams the phone down. Bastards.

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  1. Yes, total bastards they are. At least they had the presence of mind to even know about the problems on this occasion. Sometimes they tell you all is well, and when you turn up- no bloody trains on the route you have just bought a ticket for. Bastards too nice for them.

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