Every morning, the Jubilee Line, runs like
clockwork to London Bridge for 8.29.
A triple escalator climb later to the concourse
and it’s full as crowds form for information,
fuming of course at the chaos and non-communication
from the shit for brains world of Southern Trains.
Even the dot matrix is bemused, confused
as expected times roll forward and back.
Then gimmicks attack as some stations, destinations,
journeys that survive cancellation function
but are branded ‘fast’, leaving aghast those who
wait for New Cross Gate or Norwood Junction.
A glance at the platforms, some trains are there.
Pity about the staff, an ironic laugh, commuters swear.
Conductors are absent, ‘sick’ or late inbound.
Relays cause delays if only one team turns up or around.
So check online, stay in bed, work from home instead.
No train ticket to Gatwick, get a cab, pay per head.
Back into London from Reigate, Three Bridges, or Tonbridge is
the same, or worse, as services fall like dominos.
“It’ll get better!” is the ominous wail. But it’s a curse.
When weather isn’t to blame, statistics loom, logistics
arguably fail.
Groans, gloom, inaudible advice. But one thing is nice;
beyond angry hustle and bustle I’ve realised this:
I can shout, “You Southern bastards!”, with no
prejudice.
