I made the idiots mistake of buying my way out of the problem with a 1ST season ticket thinking the extra cash is insurance for busy times. Oh how I was wrong!
As it's often the case you enjoy a nice drink in the lounge while watching the departure board light up in red for every driver cancellation and listening to the background of moans and groans from those outside the frosted door. Between the sea of red is a thin strip of green, that light at the end of the tunnel, translated to my train. "No problem", I thought as I began to pack my laptop away while finishing my cereal bar. I hold my breath as I prepare to battle through the concourse littered with compensation forms and the blood of a former CSA announcing the cancellations, "have a nice day" I hear from the lounge dragon as she mentally signs my death certificate.
After navigating the maze of flesh and pushchairs to the ticket barrier I gingerly make my way down to the usual platform of 3A to find there is no train there but an empty void. I start to wonder if that mystery green light on that departure board was having a dare with the arrivals board to make me join the great misery about to unfold. "Oh dear" I thought, "It's a platform change", so a quick hop skip and a jump to 5A, I make my way down the escalators. With the shopping bags just coming into view down below I clutch my self motivated insurance with a knowledge that there won't be more than 23 1ST holders on board.
From that point it all went downhill, even if it never went up the hill. I managed to find my way to the mystical haven called 1ST to find that comfort barrier blocked by a shopping trolley and her owner occupying all the known space between reality and salvation. It was a tough battle but I made my way through, still clutching my rapidly fading insurance. The light at the end of the tunnel turned dark very quickly as I was met by a Victorian angry mob wielding torches and pitch-forks being led by our good friend shopping trolley chanting "burn the 1ST class scum" and "death to capitalism". My insurance at this point had now washed completely into my back pocket leaving me to return to my former self, pressed against the luggage rack but even more out of pocket.
Throughout the journey, our good shopping trolley reminded me of my stupidity by bashing my leg between every junction and red light this side of Birmingham until that magic moment we had to part ways but not without her wheels rolling over my foot as a final f* you.