Me + Travel = Apocalyptic Doom

     Soon, I am going to have to come up with newer, safer modes of transport. Yes, this is a follow on from my last blog. On a side note, I think it's funny that "apocalypse" throws up "nuclear" pictures when you jam it into Google imaged. On another side note, I need to get better quality earrings that don't go green. On another, another side note, I don't have the money do to that, so I should just shut the hell up. Right ...

     On my latest attempt to get home, I was thrown into the longest bus ride ever. If you can call it a bus ride, ya know, since the bus was stationary. And before that, there was my first train ride without adult supervision! That went swimmingly, as you can probably recall. And in between these two disasters. Well, there was the trip to London I made and the fantastic journey back to Coventry after my visit home. You know these won't end well either.

     In fact, my roommate has declared that she, "Will never, ever travel with me, as things seem to spontaneously go wrong whenever I decide to go somewhere." I love her faith in me, and the fact that she is now associating my presence with the crappy journeys, as if it's somehow my fault. But then again, I can't blame her. I actually agree that the mini London issue was probably my fault.

     London is a scary place for an eighteen year old Dead By Sunrise fan -

     I heard that you know, that comment about me dragging Dead By Sunrise into this, but they were the whole reason I was going to London. That's a story for another time, but a story I will tell, nonetheless. It deserves telling!

     - and I've always hated traveling in London. It sucks. Okay, okay. It's more than that. I'm actually pretty freaked by travel in London. Me and my family used to go at least once every summer, for a day trip, and the travel was the worst part. I was afraid that our rushing for the tube would end with me being trapped on the other side of the door, staring at my family as they disappeared into the black tunnel. Since I've already been left on a platform while someone I care about disappears into the distance, I have nothing to worry about.

     Tangent over, I was nervous. I had to get a taxi to the station, get a train into London, get the tube to High Street Kensington, and then find the building I was supposed to be going to. I was sure that I was going to screw things up. I did. I ended up on the wrong underground line. How? I have no bloody idea, since I was meant to be getting on Circle, and had all the time in the world. I guess I panicked and jumped on the wrong train. 

     It's a good thing I spotted my error, otherwise I would have been screwed. I figured it out when they announced the next stop was in a direction I was not meant to be heading in. I saved myself, getting on a different tube that would get me to Kensington, but it left me scarred. I did, eventually, feel grown-up that I managed to weave my way through London unaided, but it was still scary. And it will probably be scary forever, due to my irrational fear of London.

     My next screwed up journey was a lot simpler, and a lot less my fault. Unless you count the stupid conversation I had mentally in my head. If you're superstitious then yeah, this screw up was probably my fault too. I had come home, which had been easy enough, and it was my first weekend back from university. I was doing well at university, but being home reminded me of what I was missing out on, so I began to doubt whether I wanted to go back or not.

     I was conflicted. I wanted to go back, but I didn't at the same time. I wanted to stay at home, but I didn't at the same time. I didn't know where I wanted to be. It turned out that conflicted was the worst possible thing that I could have been. Why? Because I ended up in Rugby.     

     Okay, I'll go back a few steps. I was getting a train back to Coventry, a train that left from Milton Keynes Central. This is the same station that I sat at for an hour when I was abandoned on its sixth platform. Me and this station have history. We go back. Way back. And it seems that our unresolved issues are stirring more issues between us. Anyway, I was getting a 19:11 train to Coventry. All I had to do was get on the train and everything after that was a done deal.

     I got on. I sat down. I waved to my Dad on the platform. We pulled away. And then the tanoy system crackled to life, and a woman's voice echoed down upon us.

Announcer: "This train will not be going to Coventry, Birmingham International or Birmingham New Street due to there being a person on the train line."

     WHAT!

     That was the first elegant thought to my head. The second being, "Why'd someone have to go and commit suicide when I was getting the train home?" Sympathetic I know, but a lot more clued up then the girls sitting opposite me.

Girl 1: "There's someone on the line? What are they doing on the line? And why do we have to be diverted?"

Girl 2: "They probably need to get the person off the line."

     I smiled at their naivety, knowing that it was going to take a long time for them to get the person off the line. Then panic kicked in. Hang on a minute. If I wasn't going to Coventry, where was I going?

     Rugby, it would seem.

     Slap bang in between home and university. This is where superstition fits in. If you are superstitious, you'll probably think my earlier indecisiveness and confliction lead to me being in between the two places. It was Fate's way of laughing at me.

Fate: "HA, you couldn't make your mind up and now you're stuck in the middle of nowhere. Stuff that in your pipe and smoke it."

     Well, that was the last time I was going to be conflicted about a journey. Just to be on the safe side. And yeah, I know, Rugby isn't in the middle of nowhere, but it might have been for all the good that it did me that fine night.

     On a morbid side note, the male announcer at Rugby was a lot less sympathetic than the woman on the train, and he clearly doesn't like to beat around the bush. Why'd I say that? I think he's announcement gave that away.

Announcer: "There are no trains traveling between Rugby and Coventry due to there being a person under a train. We will do everything in our power to ensure that the lines are cleared quickly and efficiently so you can be on your way. Thank you."

     Thank you indeed. 

Foiled: Attempt to "Get Home"

    I can't seem to manage a simple journey without something going wrong. You've heard about my first solo train journey, and you've yet to hear about my first voyage to London alone. Then there was the time when I went back to my Halls alone ... Yeah, there is a pattern forming. I am a beacon for misfortune, and yesterday was no different to those other times. 


     I honestly thought that it would be different. I thought, "This is it. This is the one. This time, there are no problems to get in the way. You'll make it. Believe. Just believe." It was almost like the introduction to a cheesy song. I was going to make it somewhere without something else messing it up. How wrong can one person get?


     ANSWER: Very.


     Friday, 7th May. I am going home for the weekend to see my family before they go on holiday (yeah, I know, they're going on holiday without me! Rejection much). It seemed simple enough, and welcome after last week's four day extravaganza of complete solitude. All I needed to do was get a coach as close to my hometown as possible, then get the bus from the town centre to my house. The latter was a journey I'd made many times. The previous? Never. 


     I was nervous, to say the least. Coaches? Coaches without any instructions? Coaches that may make me stranded in some Godforsaken place. Man, I was worried. I had all this weird scenarios playing in my head. I'll share some:

1. I get to the bus station, only to miss my coach because I can't find the stand that it leaves from. I've wasted £7, and end up spending the weekend in Coventry.
2. I get on the coach, but the driver ends up deciding to skip my stop and I end up at Stansted airport, stranded. 
3. I get on the coach, and there are no spare seats for me, so I end up being left behind, because who really cares about whether an eighteen year old student gets home safely?

     There are more. I have a rather big imagination, and it likes to torture me when faced with new situations about the possibilities that aren't really possibilities, but incredibly farfetched fears. The coach journey was the one part of the trip my mind was fixated on and couldn't get passed. Like I said before, the bus trip from the town centre to my house was a piece of cake. Done a million times before. The coach? Bleh. 

     I went to the bus station early, to make sure that I was stood at the right stand, on the right side of the bus station, and not some other place where I could see my coach come in and leave without me. I checked with a nice lad, and he assured me that my stand was Stand C. Of course, even his assurances didn't ease my fear, and I didn't believe his words. He was in on the conspiracy to get me stranded. 

     However, I had no other choice but to go to that stand and keep a vigilante on the incoming buses/coaches. Funny how fifteen minutes stretches on forever when you don't want it to. I kept checking the clock what seemed to me like every five minutes, but the clock never seemed to change. I was getting more and more agitated. I wanted it to be over and it was never ending. The minute hand seemed to hate me and be deliberately moving slowly, and then there were other people standing ahead of me, all smug and superior because they knew what they were doing and weren't eighteen and inexperienced ...

     After forever, the coach arrived and I stepped forward to claim my seat. The driver took my ticket, looked at it, and circled the destination. 

     "Luton airport," he declared. I shook my head, and he looked at me bemusedly.

     "Luton," I said, regretting my phrasing as soon as it came out of my mouth. The driver looked at me like I was an idiot, and I had to agree with him at that moment. I was shaking and thanking my Mum for reminding me I had clothes at home and didn't need luggage. That would have complicated things further.

     "The town centre?" he replied, and I nodded timidly. He sighed impatiently and I knew that I was being dismissed. I walked onto the bus, face hot with embarrassment. I found a seat, and settled in. For the next five minutes, I decided whether I wanted to sit by the window, or by the aisle (I originally phrased that "in" the aisle, but realised that looked like I was sitting in the aisle, literally). Anyway, I shuffled from one seat to the other, debating it out, before settling by the window, but only because I looked stupid shuffling between the two seats.

     The driver got on and I fastened myself in. The motion of looking down to fasten it made me realise something important, embarrassing and altogether uncomfortable: I felt sick. 

     I never get travel sick in a car, trains are alright give or take, and coaches have never bothered me. Until that moment. I started deep breathing, in through the nose, out through the mouth. The woman behind me must have thought that I was a loony, what with the moving seat and heavy breathing. There is no doubt in my mind that she clutched her bag tight to her chest and rested her hand on a can of deodorant/body spray in case I turned around to attack her in a rabid rage.

     To make matters worse, the seats were leather and every time the coach went around a roundabout, or stopped suddenly, I slid forward. I was only held in by my belt, and even then there was enough slack for me to jolt forward, adding to the nausea. I held as still as possible, breathing in and out, my iPod plugged into my ears to distract from the stares. It would all be over soon.

     If only.

     Once we arrived in Luton (town centre, not airport) I hopped off the coach and stretched, feeling thankful that it was all over. All I had to do was get the 38 to my home and I could finally relax, a weekend away from revising, a weekend full of home cooked meals, a weekend full of people contact. I strolled over to the bus stop, the bus coming within ten minutes. I climbed aboard, paid and settled in for the ride.

     This is the part where the coach journey looked like a casual walk in a park and the usually half hour ride home looked like purgatory. 

     I decided against music this time, figuring I'd be home soon and that staring out the window at familiar sights would occupy me. We were stuck in traffic, but this part of the journey always took forever and once we were through, we were home and dry. The first signs that something was amiss happened shortly after I text my Mum that I was on the bus. A fire engine whizzed by. Not unusual, so I ignored it. I figured that it was probably heading towards the motorway to an accident.

     We carried on slowly through the street, Friday afternoon traffic playing havoc with the speed we could move at. I saw that we were almost through and relaxed. That was when another emergency services car sped by. It was a regular car, with lights, so I deduced that it was a paramedic of some sort. Still no alarms of my own sounded. A normal sight. But then, I spotted a car doing a three-point turn in the road. 

     Feeling slow, I tried to peer around the man sitting beside me to see what was going on. I couldn't see, so I decided that person had probably reversed off their drive into the road. I was wrong. It was turning around because the road was blocked. There had been an accident, except it hadn't happened on the motorway. It had happened on the only road I could go on to get home. 

     The bus stopped. People stared. I saw the fire engine from before, parked ahead. I saw the silver Chevy, its driver putting out cones to stop the cars. I saw police, ambulances and people from the nearby houses stopping and staring. I realised that the accident was literally in front of us, and people started talking.

     "They're cutting those people free."

     I almost face palmed. It had happened again. To me. I could not get home without something happening. Something like this. It was a curse that I carried. I texted my Mum. I sat back as a police officer stepped aboard.

     "Sorry folks," he said in a friendly manner. "You'll be waiting a long time. You might as well start walking."

     He was insane if he thought I was walking from where we were, to where I live. That was an impossible feat, too many miles and streets between us. Other people heading to my town murmured in agreement with my thoughts. Some people got off, having only to walk up the road. 

     I was effectively stuck.

     The iPod didn't seem like such a bad idea anymore. I tugged it out. Of course, this is a debriefed version of the two hours I sat on the bus. I didn't get the iPod out for ages, chatting with strangers about the situation we were united in. To be honest, I'd only started a conversation because I thought I was awesome for coming up with a plausible way to fix our problem. It was so awesome, I had to share. So I turned to the woman behind me and said:

     "I don't see why they can't get another bus to come down and stop beyond the crash, and then let us walk through along the pavement to the bus, and then be on our way."

     I was amazing for thinking that up. The woman thought I was awesome. The bus driver, however, did not do as I planned. So we ended up stuck there while the emergency services did their job. I sat back and relaxed, finding it hilarious that I couldn't go anywhere without something happening. Other people did not. In fact, the most annoying part about this was the other people talking loudly about themselves.

     However, my personal favourite was the phone call between one woman and her daughter at home. If there was an award for stupidity of the most genetic, she would have won, hands down. The phone call went something like this:

Woman: Stephanie, could you check to see if I've got any post. What? No, can you check to see if I've gotten any post. Post. I said post. No, Stephanie, check to see if there is any post. What? Get Dad to check if there is any post for me. I've got my social work coming through. What? What? Get Dad to check the post. What? Post. I said post ... 

     And on and on she went. Is it any wonder I plugged my headphones in?

     Anyway, the dilemma does not end there. The bus driver realised that we would be stuck beyond his paid hours. So instead of being a good, selfless citizen and driving us to the depo, or even home, he decided to chuck us off his bus and put us on another that was behind us. 

     We got on the second bus just as the traffic started moving. The two buses in front of us moved. We didn't. I looked up at the driver, who was desperately pressing the ignition button on his panel. Nothing. I figured that his bus had broken down. No one else did. They started moaning again, as all British peoples are exceptionally good at.

        "The bus has broken down," I supplied cheerfully, figuring that since so much had gone wrong so far, it wouldn't hurt for more to go wrong. "He can't start it. We're stuck."

     So, to resolve this new issue, we were put on another bus and then we were finally off. It took me longer to get home from the town centre then it did to get from Coventry to Luton. I loved the irony. Laughed at it.

     I kind of had to. That, or go insane from the magnitude of mind-numbing things that occurred on one, simple trip home. It's a speciality of mine. Screw up the simplest of journeys. 

The Crushing Guilt of Reality

     Do you remember that hypothetical, fear driven scenario I told you earlier today, concerning my exam? Yes. Well, it isn't that far from the truth. A sad, sad fact that still torments me now. 

     The day started out bad enough. In fact, it goes further back then that, but that's a different story all together. Anyway, I got out of bed, and knew things were bad. It's one of those creepy instincts that shadows your heart and clenches tight when you wake up.

     I crammed, and crammed, and crammed all morning for the damn exam. My mind tormented me the whole time, "Ha ha ha ha, you know nothing about SEN, or assessments, or IQ tests, or pain, or perceptions of health, or ANYTHING! Mwhahaha ... " This depressing realisation was doing nothing for my self-esteem, so I stopped cramming and started crying.

     Once I had pulled myself together, I realised that it was time to leave. I left, feeling slightly more cheerful as I figured that the exam would be over in less than three hours. I would be free. And then panic returned. Especially when I forgot what side of the road that we drive on in England. 

     I freaked. My mind laughed cruelly, "How are you going to pass this exam if you can't even remember what side of the road you drive on, and that's something you should have learned after almost nineteen years!" I had to agree with my mind. It was worrying that I couldn't remember something I should have known for eighteen years, especially since I had been revising for this exam a little over a week. 

     I quickly deduced that we drive on the left side of the road, and confidence fill me. If I could figure that out, I could figure anything out. I was feeling on top of the world, until I stumbled and quickly looked around to see if anyone had seen me. 

     It's horrible, walking to an exam. You feel trapped, you feel stuck, you feel stupid. You know you have to go and sit it, you know you have two hours ahead of you, but at the same time you can't wait for that time to come, so you can get over your fear and apprehension. A sickening calm fell over me, as I walked past a group of teens that looked like they'd skipped out on school. 

     "Hey," one of the chav girls said in a squeaky voice (it wasn't squeaky, but she doesn't deserve my kind words). "Are we going yet? My arms are starting to hurt."

     It was then that I noticed she was holding a coat over her head. It was drizzling, and she clearly didn't want to get her hair extensions wet. I could forgive her for that. She had some sense of self-worth. 

     As I hurried past, I heard one of the guys with her say, "Go over there then." He was dismissing her. She didn't get this, and replied with, "Cocky, aren't you?"

     No, I thought to myself, he's not. He's just pointing out the obvious. If you went and stood over there, you'd be dry, and you could put your arms down, hence lengthening the amount of time you spend standing outside. 

     With all these clever deductions, I was sure that I was going to ace the test. I mean, I had figured out what side of the road that Brits drive on AND figured out that the girl was stupid. I could take on anything.

     Apparently not.

     I went into the exam, couldn't figure out how to fill in the front of the exam paper (which was foreboding enough) and was panicked by the sheer number of people in the room who were all cleverer than me (they'd figured out how to fill in the front of the exam paper). The woman with the microphone announced it was time to start when I was finishing off putting my name in the box. Damn. 

     When I opened the question paper I knew it was all over. There were three questions, and to the best of my memory, they said this:

1. Blah, blah, blah ... Social Cognitive models ... blah, blah, blah ... evaluate ... blah, blah 
2. Stress Intervention ... blah, blah ... Academic evidence and support ... 
3. Motivational Interviewing ... blah ... outline ... blah, blah, blah ... evaluate

     There should have been a fourth question, designed for me.

       4.  Did you take our advice, Kirsty, and read around the topic throughout the year? 

     I would have gotten 100% if that had come up. Looking up bleary eyed, I saw that many people had started writing and were already half way down the first page of their answer booklet. I was doomed. This was it. Apathy kicked in. I was going under.

     I had more luck on the Educational side of the exam. Not enough to save my sorry ass, but enough that I didn't feel completely stupid, even though I clearly was. I looked up at one point to see a girl asking for another sheet of paper. I was confused. I checked the front of my booklet to see how many pages there were in the answer booklet. 

     There were 16 pages ...

     How on Earth did she use all sixteen? She must have had GIANT handwriting that took up all the lines. I also recognised the girl as being one of the annoying ones who had been stalking me since January. By stalking, I mean sitting in front, or behind, me in lectures and TALKING THE WHOLE WAY THROUGH. I was amazed. How did she manage to write <16 pages when she never even listened in the lectures? I needed to talk to her and find out how she did it.

     The rest of the exam was a blur of me writing some stuff, pausing, staring around at other people, thinking about Pirates of the Caribbean (don't know why, so don't ask) and then scribbling some more. There must have been something wrong with me, because after an hour all the people sitting near me starting leaving the exam. 

     I personally think it was because they felt threatened by my awesomeness, and knew that their exams would never live up to the awesome I was writing.

     Okay, maybe not. But a girl can dream, right?

     Ah, I'm gonna have to sit tight and wait it out then.

     HERE'S TO HOPING I SCRAPED A PASS!

Going For Gold, My Tense Nerves

     It is not even funny how stupidly nervous I am for this exam. I'm sitting here, pretty much torturing myself with ifs and maybes. "What if that question doesn't come up? It's the only one you could possibly answer. You'd be so screwed if it doesn't come up ... " Well thank you brain, for being so supportive. 

     It's not only my brain that's against me; my stomach is in so many knots that I can't remember what it felt like before nerves took over. Which is ironic, or stupid, because nerves control your body, so they can't take over, they're already in control. And why is apprehension known as "nerves" anyway? That doesn't make sense, not when we have a nervous system. It implies we perform better on "nerves", but since we're wired up with them anyway ... Stop, I am reading way too deeply into this. 

     Educational Psychology will be the death of me. And what a dramatic death it will be. I will be sat in the exam hall, twitching, eyes quickly scanning the other 189 students taking the same exam as me as they all crouch over their papers, scribbling madly. And then a high pitched keening sound will make them pause momentarily, and they'll turn, and I'll collapse, arms outstretched in a beg for mercy and more time.

     Okay, okay, I need to stop thinking about the exam. It's not making me feel any better. I have time, all 2 hours, 45 minutes of it. And then it'll be all over. The apprehension, the nerves, the fear, because I'll know what's on the exam. 

     Irony is chasing me today. I'm supposed to be revising stress and the effects of it on the body for the Health Psychology part of the exam, but instead, I'm living through the effects of stress. Maybe it'll give me an edge in the exam. I can just sit there and list all the faults with my thinking and my body and score the 40% I need. 

     COME ON 40%!

My (Extended) Five Minutes of Fame

     I'm in a music video.


     No, I'm not a sexy dancer in the back of a raunchy pop video of some mega famous pop singer.


     And if you've read the previous blog you'd already know that.


     But let's pretend that you haven't and go through the motions.


     Okay, I went to a Linkin Park concert last year. If you haven't already figured it out (Seriously, you haven't. What, do you have one brain cell or something? Sorry ... ) I'm a really big Linkin Park fan. Really big. So when I heard they were planning a concert in England, I was thrilled, excited, rushed, stunned. They never play in England. Never. So the fact they were playing a gig just down the road from me meant fate was at hand. And I went. And I saw loads of cameras. Didn't think much of it, but it turned out my first ever concert and my first ever LP concert was being documented for a DVD. I was hyperventilating when I found out.


     Of course I brought it!


     Anyway, my second ever concert, the infamous Nickelback concert (see previous chapter) also had loads of cameras. I couldn't figure out why, as before, in the LP concert. And then Chad Kroeger announced that their next music video would be "Burn It To The Ground" and it would be a live music video and they were filming it at this concert. I was, again, stunned. It seems like the camera loves me and follows me to my concerts.


     Me and BF were at the front of the crowd. Right at the front. I probably coulda touched the cameraman. Anyway, she screamed so loud I went deaf. I didn't want to be seen looking boring in a video I might star in, so bounced and screamed along.


     Turned out that was the worst possible thing I coulda done, 'cos now I'm on a music video (for less than a second) with my mouth wide open, which is not a good look. The only good thing to come from this is that you can't really tell it's me, unless you know me or I tell you it's me. So my claim to fame is essentially ruined by my slack jaw. 


     Okay, okay, I was mortified at first, but now I think it's a honor to have my mouth wide and open, catching flies, in a Nickelback music video.


     Better to have some of me on it, then none of me.


     And if you're asking, yes, I was at the front of the LP concert too. But no, I'm not of the DVD (or at least, I can't see me) because the camera was less generous with it's panning.


     Plenty of crowd shots, as in, wide shots. Not many close-ups.


     But it's the mere thought of my first concert being on DVD to relive, that makes it worthwhile.

Why I Should Never Get a Train Alone

Nickelback Concert; NIA, Birmingham

26th May, 2009

     I promised you a tale about my very first experiences of a train station, alone. So what the Hell does Nickelback have to do with it, I hear you ask. Okay, my best friend loves them. Absolutely adores them. So when she found out they were bringing their "Dark Horse" tour here, she went insane. She is anyway, but knowing they were going to be in the same country as herself, it sent her loopy. And the only way for her to ever survive this, was for her to go to the concert.


     Nickelback had decided to embrace Birmingham's "National Indoor Arena", which was a train journey away from us. About half an hour to forty-five minutes, give or take. And the date of the gig ended up being on a day when we weren't at Sixth Form (basically school). We got really excited and I sat there amazed that this had stemmed from the birthday gift I gave her.


     It was a homemade CD. I'd put a little Nickelback on there, along with two live tracks from Linkin Park's "Road to Revolution: Live At Milton Keynes" the concert we'd been to, together, the previous year. It was my birthday present and the most amazing day of my life! But I digress.


     Anyway, my dear best friend decided to make this a birthday gift of her own, even though the concert wasn't until May. Now, she comes up with loads of grand plans and I wasn't so sure this was going to occur. Normally, life gets in the way of our plans together ...


     (Bless her. I don't mean anything bad by that. It's just a fact of life.)


     ... so I didn't think this would actually happen. I just nodded and agreed with her as I watched her skip off home.


     Imagine my surprise when she produced tickets and said she would pay for them. I was stunned. Plus, we ended up staying in a motel and she paid for that too. I was in love.


     (KP, I love you!)


     Aaaannnnyyyywaaayyyy ...


     Back to the main point of this story - why I shouldn't be allowed near train stations without adult supervision ...


     Although, technically, I am an adult now. So I could supervise myself, but, still, I suck at train stations.


     Okay, so basically, we were going to Birmingham to see Nickelback. We had gotten a bus to a train station, to be told we needed to get a coach to another, because there was no connecting line from there to Birmingham. So we had tickets for trains/coaches/concerts/hotels. And each other.


     We got to the necessary train station after a lot of messing about and waiting. Waiting is so not fun, when you're all filled up with nervous apprehension and excitement. You just wanna "go, go, go". But we did make it and were left a little confused. Well, I was. I'd never, ever, ever gotten a train on my own and wasn't sure which platform and train we were supposed to be going on. But we walked together to one such platform and waited for a train.


     And that was when it all went wrong.


     Best friend decided to change platform and get on another train to Birmingham. We ran up the stairs and across the bridge and down some stairs to the platform where the train awaited. She ran and jumped on, I hesitated, unsure if it was the train we needed and BAM ...


     The train doors shut.


     I was stood on the platform, staring at my best friend, who was on the train, behind the door, staring at me.


     That was how I stood as the train began to pull away from the platform and head to Birmingham.


     The last thing I saw was my best friend panicking and calling a train attendant down to help her out. Then I saw the train disappear into the far, far, away distance.


     Then I laughed.


     Seriously, now I look back on it, that was a serious sucky situation to be in. I shoulda been scared and crying and stunned. But I wasn't. I found the whole thing rather funny and I laughed. Which is what you normally do upon looking back at said incident.


     I really shoulda been scared, since she had my ticket and the knowledge I needed to get to Birmingham.
 
     And this is exactly the reason I should never, ever, under any circumstance, go to a train station without an adult. 


     Because I hesitate and miss my train.


     Okay, so I was alone on a platform, unaware what that train was, what time the next one was, without a ticket. My phone started vibrating and I answered it, still staring after the Virgin train that had left me behind. Still brain dead. Still laughing.


     "Hello," I said.


     I was greeted with, "Why didn't you get on?"


     "I don't know. The door was closing," I replied, blinking out of my stupor as I heard the panic in BF's voice.


     "What are you going to do? I've got your ticket," she said. It was then I was alerted to the fact I had no ticket.


     "Ah."


     "Go find an attendant or something. I'll talk to someone here. Call me back," and with that, she hung up.


     I looked around the platform and, I am not kidding you, it was empty. Devoid of all life. I walked to the other side of the platform.
 
     Nothing.


     I walked back.


     Nothing.


     Eventually, a Virgin train guy came out of a little office thing and I walked over to him. By then, I had received a text from BF.


     It said: Another train comes in ten minutes.


     I thought, "That's alright then. Better tell someone."


     "Hello," I smiled. "My friend and I have been separated by a train's doors, and she has my train ticket. We're supposed to be going to Birmingham together. Do you know when the next one will arrive?"


     "An hour," he told me.


     I froze and looked at him.


     "An hour. She said ten minutes," I stuttered.


     "No, an hour," and then he pointed to the screen above me, before walking off and leaving me alone.


     I went and sat down, staring glumly at the empty platform, whilst still finding this funny. Secretly. I pulled my phone out and jammed her number in. She picked up on the first ring.


     "Well?"


     "An hour."


     "What's an hour?"


     "An hour to the next train," I stated, flinching as a Fast Train whizzed through the station. "And I still don't have a ticket."


     "I thought he'd give you a new one. He should have," she said.


     "Nah, he walked off and left me."


     "Okay, okay. I'm outside Rugby and I'll be in Birmingham in about half an hour. I'll meet you at the station," she said. "I'll just phone my mum now," she added, before hanging up.


     That was when I realised I had no idea where I was going or what train station I was supposed to get off at.


     I was still in a "finding it funny" stupor.


     I ended up sitting down and reading a revision book on "The Tempest" because my English A-Level exam was coming up soon. Might as well make some good come of this, seeing as I was stuck in a train station and all, and not likely to do much revision later, at the concert.


     An hour later, I had befriended an old lady who was getting on the same train as me. The Virgin had come back too and given me a piece of paper that said I could ride the train. Things were looking up. BF had told me where to go and promised me she'd be waiting, I had a (make shift) ticket and a new FRIEND. Yeah, things were good.


     You'll be relieved to know I made it to Birmingham in one piece, an hour later then BF. And I had a great time at the concert. I might go into more detail at a later date.


     Oh, and whilst reading this, I found out I'm in the "Burn It To The Ground" video, that was filmed at said concert.


     Go to YouTube, type in "Burn It To The Ground" music video and stop at 01:49. You'll see me (the one with her mouth wide open - that's all you can see of me) and my BF (she's the blond).


     I'm in a blue shirt.


     Don't forget to point at laugh at the idiot (me).