Low life
Buffeted
Jeffrey Bernard
I've just done the 60-hour trip to Boulogne. It works out at £19 for the return fare which wouldn't be bad if the service was operated by any other organisation in the world than British Rail. The Women's Institute, the Boy Scouts or the Ku Klux Klan could do it better. I now wonder how the management people of BR have got the gall to accept their wages never mind the nerve to charge the public.
To start with, Charing Cross Station, Whoever the gnome is who BR employ to design their interiors it's quite obvious that his qualifications must have been to have had no qualifications at all and to have never set foot inside an art school or seen a drawing board. The tea served therein, like all the tea served by BR, is the proverbial cats' piss. The sandwiches you can just about look at if you're not squeamish, but you wouldn't want to eat one. And there was standing room only in the train. In the event of having to stand for an hour and a half I think there should be a refund of 5° per cent of the fare, but when you not onlY have to stand but also share a lavatory that doesn't flush with 200 or so other people: then BR should be fined. When, on top o' that, there's a buffet car with a buffet locked up and out of service— advertised, mind you. — then heads of BR administration shot roll. The actual ship was an improvement. At least the bar was open although they refused to start serving before setting so Why? We were, in fact, within licensing hours. At the bar, a man in front of me ordered a Bacardi and Coca Cola. He complained bitterly and quite rightly when he was served with an imitation Coca Cola. Again, they should sell what they advertise. My own boozing on the voyage — I drink vodka, lime, ice and soda — was spoilt by the fact that in the entire ship there was only one measure of lime. By the time we docked in Boulogne I was very nearly a severe case of scurvy. The hotel there wasn't marvellous but it was okay and the cost of a double room for two nights and four breakfasts — very good ones — was almost exactly £12. Now, if the most avaricious race of bastards in the world can make a profit charging that, what on earth must British hoteliers be stashing away in their Swiss bank accounts? As to the food we ate out in restaurants, well, it was the old story. I had two ordinary meals: steak, chips, green safad, brie, bread and wine, so ordinary and yet so good, I felt almost ashamed to be English. I was ashamed to be English, though, watching yobs from this country weaving their way along the gutters brandishing bottles of wine and shouting like football hooligans. The only drawback I found was the fact that there isn't really anything to do on one Of these trips except to eat and drink. I mean there isn't much to see, especially in bad weather, but although I can put up with steady and gentle pastis-sipping for a couple Of days, watching a bit of the world go by, it isn't everyone's tasse de the and it certainly wasn't my companion's. What was so ghastly was not being able to get the thought of the return journey out of my mind. Even over the lobster followed by sea bass with sauce bearnaise and the smooth, cold ,white wine, I had visions of seasick yobs, blocked BR lavatories and buffetless trains. People don't go to hell when they die, they go to Charing Cross or Liverpool Street. 1 imagine that when the French die they go to a Trust House Forte hotel or to a Wimpy Bar in Leicester Square. That old business of the language problem cropped up of course, my French being strictly schoolboy stuff. I used to think it a trifle rude not to make an effort to speak the beastly language but I now think that the French are so bloody rude themselves that I've gone completely the other way. The thing is to speak English and just steam on With it regardless of their reaction. They'll pretend not to understand at first and then their greed will get the better of them. You ignore their shrugs and pretence at deafness and carry on. 'I'd like a Ricard with lots of ice in a tall glass. No, hang on. Make that a large one with a separate jug of water, and have you got any matches? By the way, you do serve food here, don't you.' They've worked out the bill before you've even sat down. Of course, some of them are delightful, and they're frightfully clever I know, but if Doctor Who gave me the loan of his Tardis I'd go back to watch either Waterloo or Trafalgar. Make that Trafalgar. Waterloo would remind me of British Rail.
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