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 Watts In Britain, a weekly look at, well erm, what's in Britain. Week by week this column will build into a collection of essential reasons for staying-put in Spain.
I t's nearly local election time over here and, oh goody, the broadcasts to sway voters have begun. For the past few nights we've had politicians of different persuasions trying to demonstrate either, how they have made our lives better or how they will make our lives better. All depending if they're in power or not. One person who is definitely in power - well, for the time being - is dear old Bottla' Brown. Last night a cinemagraphic extravaganza with such high production values that you'd thought George Lucas must have made it, burst forth on our screens fronted by a presidential and strangely soft-focused Bottla'. During this epic, ole Gordon promised many, many things. Amongst his raft of rash guarantees was the one whereby folks over sixty would henceforth be able to roam the country free by bus.
Apparently, this has all come to pass following a government inspired (isn't that an oxymoron?) think-tank's plan to formulate a policy for public transport users. The new so-called Bus Champion Scheme has decided that because two thirds of all public transport journeys are taken by bus then nanny-state intervention is called for. Bus operators must provide best practice and the boys from the BCS will jolly well tell 'em how to do it. Great, I bet the poor bus using public can't wait. Mind you with hordes of over-sixties piling onto the buses, waiting is something they'll have to get used to. And waiting is something I did in great measure when I attempted to use the above-mentioned public transport system recently. Transport yourselves if you will, dear RTN readers, to the capital's coach hub at Victoria. Using the speedy powers of the Internet I foolishly booked a ticket with National Express from London to Birmingham. I say foolishly because I'd been hoodwinked by the publicity that stated how green, virtuous, stress free and speedy the process would be. Leave the evil car behind. Huh!
Taking Nat-Ex's advice on their e-ticket I arrived ten minutes prior to departure. Ten minutes after departure and I'm… still waiting for the coach to appear. Ten further minutes later and one of the three National Express 'travel advisors' - slumped behind the podium by departure gate twelve - reluctantly broadcasts, "The nine o'clock to Birmingham is still on the motorway coming in." And that was it! That was all we passengers hoping to get to Brum for midday were told.
Nothing else about the nine o'clock to Birmingham is heard of for the next forty minutes! No up-date or progress report from our taciturn travel advisors. No overhead info on the state-of-the-art matrix information board. Nada! Several disgruntled would-be nine o'clock passengers form a posse and approach the three musketeers on the podium. But they're no real help. They are dealing with twenty departure gates and can only stick to the script.
"Where is the controller?" asks Angry from Tunbridge Wells. "He come," says Travel Advisor One, in his best English. But, he no come. Nor, also, did the ten o'clock coach service to Birmingham. What did come however, were the hopefuls that were the passengers for that journey. Our ranks swelled exponentially. At length, one of the travel advisors gives an official apology for the delay. So, that's all right then! Finally, a controller arrives and packs most of us tightly into the eleven o'clock coach. We arrive in Brum a tad over two and a half hours late. So, next time will it be by coach or the evil car? Er, for me the evil car, I think. Okay then think-tank oiks of the Bus Champion Scheme hear this. If nothing else people really do like to be informed of what is going on. Most reasonable types will understand if situations have occurred beyond control. But not knowing and being left in the dark is guaranteed to irritate even the mildest mannered punters. It might even make ‘em consider going by car. Or, horror of horrors, it might make ‘em consider buying a car! So think-tankers bear this in mind.
Watts in Victoria Coach Station, so you don't have to be.
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