When public transport attacks!

Of all the ways for a Tuesday to begin, waiting for an HOUR at the station is not one I would choose by, well, choice.

Our story begins, dear reader, sometime in the depths of the night when the maintenance crew working on the line discovered that the pieces they had to replace the pieces of track they've just taken out do not, in every essential way that matters, fit. This means that not even the pitiful one-carriage, standing room only sop they've been running at peak times can't run in the morning. You would think, all things considered, that this would give them enough time to lay on sufficient alternative transport (bearing in mind this week they are already running coaches for most of the day).

So we wait. And wait. People getting texts from friends at the station up the line get hopeful news that a coach has finally arrived. We wait some more. It then transpires that the coach sent to the first station is not big enough and is going straight to the end of the line. It will be a further 45 minutes before another coach can reach us. We have already been waiting an hour, and I, and presumably everyone else, are now late for work without even getting out of Falmouth. People gradually disappear, either with hastily called friends, into town for the main bus (which is over twice as expensive and takes twice as long) or just home in a huff.

Finally, the gods send me deliverance in the shape of a Californian lady, who's on her way home and orders a taxi to get to the main line station, invites me to share it, and pays for the whole trip (£23)! (Only having a fiver on me, this had not been a feasible option).

Finally get to work an hour late. Don't think I missed much.