Reserved

When I was a child we used trains a great deal; my father worked for British Rail and we had comp tickets. I well remember Central Station in Manchester full of the smoke from the dirty black steam engines that would take us on holiday. Steam didn't stop until the late 1960s for those wondering when we're talking about. Anyway, we'd walk along the platform looking for a compartment that didn't have a red triangle in the window - remember that these were often separate compartments with a corridor running along the side of the train rather than the open-plan style now adopted by all trains. Occasionally we still rode in carriages without corridors - each compartment was self-contained.

The red triangle meant "no smoking" and we had to avoid those so that dad could enjoy a Senior Service or two along the way. We'd go down to Bristol where we'd get a local train to Barnstaple then a bus to Bideford and then another bus to Westward Ho! where we'd stay in a caravan. It was planned like a military manoeuvre; I'm the eldest of five children and the youngest isn't much more than 6 years my junior.

In those days a reserved seat spoke of the posh folk but now it's something we all have to do if we book tickets ahead. This is a mixed blessing. Of course it means that however full the train we're not going to be sitting on our luggage in the corridor or the vestibule (as I understand it's called; the bit where the doors are). But it also means that we can't select who we with. On the way back today I was opposite a young couple who had obviously had a good night - or at least he had. I have some experience of hangovers (a long time ago you understand) and he had a peach of one. He was also sweating red wine - or that's how it smelt. In the olden days I might have elected to sit elsewhere but this choice is gone now. They were absolute sweeties so I'd probably have gone there anyway; we had a table because that's where I booked my "window seat facing the direction of travel". I also think we are in danger of losing a key skill - that of glowering at people to make sure that they don't try to come and sit next to us. I was a past master at this; I'm a grumpy person anyway and I used to be able to throw a dead-eye that would turn milk so folk used to consider climbing on the roof before they'd ask me to move my coat. These life-skills will be lost to future generations unless we find ways of allowing the old free-for-all on trains (and the tube doesn't count!).

Day off tomorrow so I might start the marking but as it's not a school night I will probably have a cheeky glass of wine tonight. I hope you are all ready for Monday - I'm just sorry I'll not be enjoying it with you!