And yes, you couldn’t make it up!

Yesterday I had occasion to travel from Chichester to the outskirts of London in order, inter alia, to attend my local GP surgery to have my annual ‘flu jab.

As it happened, the ‘flu jab was the only “fixed” appointment (at 1400 hours) in my schedule – everything else was domestic or relatively trivial.

As an oldie possessed of a Senior Citizens railcard I was delighted to discover that, upon presenting myself at the Chichester Station ticket office, that I was able to purchase an “off peak” return ticket to Richmond and back for less than £18.

At the point of boarding my train – as you do, sitting with your back to the direction of travel in a seat by the window – I was thinking highly positive things about the great history of railway travel in the British Isles, ranging from George Stephenson’s Rocket, the Mallard, the Flying Scotsman and … er … Lord Beeching’s epic reforms of the entire system, the introduction of privatisation (and… er… all the benefits that brought to ordinary citizens in this glorious isle of Albion).

However, it was not long before everything went awry.

Normally when travelling to Richmond from Chichester, one boards a train bound direct for London Victoria and then simply change at Clapham Junction for the Richmond line.

Yesterday, however, at the Chichester ticket office the cheery staffer advised me that my quickest route to Richmond would in fact be to board the next train arriving at Platform 1 and then change at Barnham for the London Victoria train then arriving from Bognor Regis.

This I did – so good so far.

And then we got to Horsham (I think it was) where we were advised that there was a slight delay problem with another train due to “hook up” with us and therefore those going to e.g. Clapham Junction might be better served by changing trains to a different service on another platform.

So this I did, along with several other passengers in my carriage.

On we went until somewhere else (Crawley? Gatwick? Three Bridges?).

At this stop those of us bound for Clapham Junction were advised to change again – and wait fifteen minutes for – a train that was going, of all places, to Peterborough … and then, when it reached East Croydon, change trains again for one bound for Clapham Junction.

Peterborough?

From my schoolboy recollection Peterborough was a town or city which had a football club but was somewhere north of Cambridge, wasn’t it?!

I had begun my journey by boarding a train at Chichester that should have taken me direct to Clapham Junction without any changing of trains at all!

Anyway, there was nothing I could do but sit on the Peterborough train – which seemed to stop at every station known to man on the way through the suburbs of southern London – and finally reached East Croydon, where I alighted and ten minutes later was able to take a train stopping at Clapham Junction … where I finally waited another fifteen minutes for a train going to Teddington which was going to reach Richmond by 1358 hours (two minutes before my ‘flu jab appointment half a mile on foot from Richmond station)!

Having originally arranged my schedule so that I arrived in Richmond some 90 minutes before said appointment there was nothing for it but to walk at a brisk space to the GPs surgery and perhaps in the meantime ring ahead to apologise profusely for having been significantly delayed by the railway system.

I duly rang the GP surgery number from Clapham Junction station – only to receive a voicemail message telling me that they were closed for lunch.

Anyway, from reaching the surgery at 1425 hours (twenty five minutes late, fearful of being turned away because of that), nothing could have been smoother. I was greeted by a helpful volunteer lady who ticked my name off on a board in her hand and waved me inside. There another lady with a clip board checked my date of birth and directed me down the corridor.

There a lady doctor took me inside, I took off my coat and jersey and rolled up my sleeve. She jabbed me and and sent me onwards to the back of the building and out, round the side and back out onto the street.

Arrival, going inside, getting jabbed and being out on the street – all in less than FOUR minutes!

(I double-checked my watch to make sure I wasn’t making it up).

This was the tale of a train trip that should have involved one change of train and taken less than two hours.

In the event it took over three hours and involved no fewer than five changes of train!