It’s 14th July, I’m sat in the offices of BUPA in Manchester, and I’m tired. I’m also bored.
I’ve been contracted here for 2 days to support part of their systems while they “go-live” with an EDM system - basically, they are going to scan all their documents and keep them on the computer system instead of putting them in a filing cabinet.
I only found out that I had drawn the short straw on Thursday night, and had to organise a hotel and a means of getting from where I live to Manchester (about 400 miles).
As is typical in my little corner of the universe, to book the hotel room I needed a credit card - and I had only just received my new card on the morning I was booking the hotel - so in effect I couldn’t book the hotel… When I first called the hotel they said they were very busy and I would have to take a more expensive room (probably 6 inches bigger than a normal room). Strangely when I called in on Saturday morning with my brand new credit card to finally book the room, they had lots of spare rooms. Weird…
So, I found myself getting out of the car with W at Maidenhead station on Sunday afternoon ready to set off for Manchester. W had planned to come out to the platform to say goodbye, but then found out that you couldn’t park your car for a shorter period than one day - therefore it was going to cost as much as lunch to park the car for 5 minutes… is that rubbish or what. We said our goodbyes, and a minute or so later found myself stood on the platform waiting for the Thames Trains service to Reading.
20 Minutes later, and I am standing on another train platform in Reading, waiting for the 16:05 train to Edinburgh, which I am reliably informed stops at Manchester Picadilly (reliably informed by a little man at an information desk in Reading Station, as it happens). The turnstiles at Reading wouldn’t let me back out to the platform either. Perhaps I should have seen the signs of things starting to go wrong?
At one minute after the time it was supposed to arrive, the Virgin Trains service to Manchester rolled into Reading Platform 3. I knew it was possibly my train because I made out “Man” and “Dilly” in the mayhem that is the Reading Station Passenger Information Assault System. Mind you - ten minutes before they had been telling everybody going to Manchester to get on the Oxford train. Nobody did. I guess the rule “never understimate the intelligence of commuters in large groups” should stand from this point forwards.
I have to say (in their defence), the Virgin train was very good indeed. Nice comfy seats - if a little too close together (but then I am 6’3C/3), and information read to passengers by the train manager approaching every station, and leaving every station. It would have been perfect if he hadn’t made one mistake…(more in a minute).
On the way between Reading and Manchester we encountered a fire at the side of the track, broken signals at Leamington Spa, and apparently we had to reduce speed because the track was “too hot”. I can’t say I have EVER heard that one before.
Anyway - back onto the story. We got into Manchester at about 8pm. On approach to the station, the train manager announced “We will shortly be arriving at Manchester. All those getting off at Manchester Airport, please make sure you have all your belongings with you when you depart the train.”. Not being able to see a sign saying the station name anywhere, I thought “ah! this is Manchester Airport, just like Birmingham has Birmingham Airport station just before Birmingham New Street Station (the main one). People clambered off the train, then it started moving and the train manager announced “The train is now leaving Manchester Picadilly, our next stop will be Bolton in twenty minutes”. Aaarrggghhand figured out it would be 9pm before I finally got anywhere near my hotel for the night, and therefore I had probably missed dinner. I got off at the next station, and crossed to the other side of the track - a train appeared straight away and I raced around the various information screens looking for any hint of where it was going. The announcer came to my rescue with a load of burble about the platform I was standing on, and “dilly” came up again. I gambled that Manchester Picadilly was the only one in the area, so jumped on - and worried that a conductor would appear again.
Twenty nervous minutes later we appeared to be back in Manchester - the only question now was if this damn train was going to stop at Picadilly. Salford, Deansgate. Oxford Road. Picadilly!! I was finally where I should have been three quarters of an hour earlier.
After a short queue for a taxi, and a five minute drive out of the city, the Manchester United football stadium came into view. Even though I hate them I have to admit that the stadium is very impressive indeed - and there was my hotel - right next to it! The Golden Tulip.
I went straight to my room, and marvelled at just how big it was. My experience of hotel rooms is that if you tried to swing a cat round, you would probably break your arm. This room was big enough to hold cats in both hands and do aerobics without touching anything. Mind you - there was no mini bar to raid.
After a bit of indecision I unpacked my clothes and went down to dinner (the restaurant closed 15 minutes later), and was suprised to find a huge plush restaurant with a pianist in the corner - who was of course playing the worst cocktail versions of popular music that you could possibly imagine. “Killing Me Softly” had to be heard to be believed. Perhaps “Killing me slowly by tinkly piano music” would be a better description. The food in the restaurant was good though (if a little predictable), and I ate it probably twice as fast as anybody else in the place - along with two bottles of beer.
It’s a strange experience, sitting in a restaurant on your own. I took a book down with me, and while waiting for the food sat and read it (Hackers, by Steven Levy - great book about the “history” of hacking, and the hacker ethic).
After dinner I could have gone to the hotel bar, but decided (a) I was tired, (b) I wanted to call W, and (c) I didn’t want to get hit on by some 40-year-old blonde in the bar (things like that just seem to happen to me so I try to avoid them these days).
So - back to the room and watching Hotel telly! It turned out there were about 20 channels. Five normal telly channels, Sky News five times, 6 movie channels and a couple of sport channels (one of which was MUTV of course). The 6 movie channels showed an equal balance of flopped hollywood movies, or porno movies. I’m not joking.
After giving up telly as a bad job I discovered “Big Brother” was on, and it actually made me fall asleep - which was rather handy
Anyway. I’ve sat in the offices of BUPA all day today messing around typing things like this, or reading my book about Hacking. Tomorrow I might even bring the new Harry Potter book with me (which, incidentally I read over 200 pages of on the way up to manchester). Anything would help to get me through the day. Although officially I am in a “support” role, it looks like they have tested everything and nothing is going to go wrong anyway.