New kind of calm as Mr Branson leaves me in a real pickle

May 21 2008 by Laura Davis, Liverpool Daily Post

I HAVE decided to look on the bright side. This is because a colleague, in a slightly hypocritical fashion, it has to be said, suggested that I am a moaner.

Suggested is actually too light a word – he insisted, with evidence to back up his hypothesis, that every time he sees me I have something to whinge about.

I protested for a while, before realising that was tantamount to a complaint, and then cut my losses.

I hope he is mistaken about this particular character flaw, because it is a personality trait I dislike in others, along with hypocrisy – something I would also be guilty of if my colleague’s perceptions are accurate.

Just in case, and because the world is a sunnier place when you are being actively cheerful, I am now attempting to always look on the bright side of life.

With the Monty Python song as my new anthem and Pollyanna as my guide, I awoke this morning looking forward to a shiny new existence.

The problem, of course, is that I forgot to tell Richard Branson.

So here I am, on a train to London, only it’s no longer a train to London.

It was a train to Crewe for a while (change, go to another station, change, go to another station, change then arrive in Paddington), now that nobody has asked us to leave it has turned into a train to Nuneaton.

That’s the rumour going round Coach D anyway. No-one official has actually told us anything since Lime Street and, judging by the lack of men and women in red suits, all the staff are cowering in the buffet car.

Normally my blood pressure would be starting to rise at this point – I hate not knowing what’s going on, particularly when it could add four hours to a 2½-hour journey – but today is Pollyanna Day, so I’m pretending to enjoy the view out of the window instead.

The sheep appear to be having a good old time of it. Probably because they do not have to go anywhere, except perhaps to the corner of the dry stone wall where there is a particularly lush patch of grass, and so are not at the mercy of the British Transport System.

What are they thinking? I wonder, as they lie in the sun. Are they contentedly enjoying the slow pace of their lives or do they have their own worries: “It’s bloody boiling, where’s that poxy farmer to shear off this woolly jumper?” “Has anyone seen Bartlett? Hope he hasn’t gone off to play with those hoodie lambs from the field next door.” “Is it just me or do the trains seem slower these days?”

We just passed eight men in fluorescent orange vests. Does that mean they’re fixing the line? Is there something wrong with the line? Is it a power cut or a signal failure – Coach D Chinese whispers is going for the latter.

But no, think of Monty Python singer Eric Idle. Today I am not allowed to bother my head with transport problems, I must use the extra time afforded me by concentrating on the positives.

The delay will give me time to listen to the businessman’s fascinating conversations about the meeting he is now going to miss. He is clearly a very successful sort because he is speaking very loudly and the two tend to go together.

I wonder if everyone else in Coach D is as appreciative of learning about his company objectives as I am or, if they have, instead, tuned into the melodic sound of the baby crying somewhere around Seat 42.

Will I end up at Euston in time for lunch as planned, or will I arrive at Paddington at half past nine after an infernal dance of train changes?

The outcome depends on the gods’ roll of the dice.

The bright side? Well, I’m always wishing for adventure . . .

lauradavis@dailypost.co.uk