February 23, 2012
Today, with a few idle minutes waiting for a late train, I enquired about what "saver" deals were available were I to buy, say, a weekly or monthly "season" ticket to get me to Manchester and back, five days a week.
Weekly, they told me, after a few tippity taps on the computer, would be £75.20.
Monthly - well, 28 days - would be £288.80.
"Thank you, fine woman," I didn't declare, as I pocketed the note she'd made and slipped out of the queue and onto the platform.
My maths are rubbish, so I plucked out the phone and pulled up the calculator.
£14.40 a day, times five, I put in.
So, three pounds and fifty pence LESS than if I buy a "saver" weekly ticket.
So I tried the monthly "season" "saver" ticket instead.
Which is eighty pence a month more than I pay daily.
I wait until I return back from Manchester tonight, after my normal two and a half hour journey home - yes folks, services are improving since they increased the fare by 90p day in January - and wearily went to the kiosk again.
"Well," says the bloke behind the perspex. "You can travel the trains to Liverpool on your days off, too, so that's where it's a bargain."
Travel. On a fucking train. On my days off.
For "a bargain" price of more than I pay already for late trains packed full of tossers.
A friend asked lately if I'd ever seen the movie Falling Down.
I am it.
God help that fucking busker in the morning.