Missed the last train home
There are times when I hate the folks that schedule trains. I mean, whose bright idea is it to make sure that the last train on a Saturday night is stupidly early. Take a recent example:
The last train back from Oxford to Reading is a 11:03pm. I ask you, 23:03. Ridiculous.

Of course having once missed the last train home from Paddington, I usually check the time of the last train, so I don't ever have to face the prospect of blowing a months salary on a taxi fare. So it was all fine, except I didn't account for how long my wife took in the bogs and how slowly she walks.

So 11:03, off the train went, while I was 10 metres away. I briefly thought of running for it, and just taking a loss on the divorce settlement - and it was very tempting, but unfortunately my good side got the better of me and I resigned myself to the 9 hour wait for the first train of the morning.

I spent a couple of hours sitting (OK *fuming*) in front of the station, before trying to find a place to sleep that was a) not covered in piss and bits of kebab and b) not likely to lead to me getting stabbed and bum-raped. This was Oxford on a Saturday night, outside term time. There weren't any places of such a high standard.

After another couple of hours, I came across the bus station, and noticed that there was an airport shuttle to Heathrow that ran all night. I knew there was one from Heathrow that went to Reading. Yay. About an hour later we were at Heathrow, and another hour and half latre we were back at Reading.

Ironically, the total cost of two airport shuttles for two people and taxi at the end of it probably came to more than a taxi home from Oxford would have cost.

I realise that this is a crap story, but I have never been to fucking Peru or Morocco, so you'll have to make do with a shite story about a journey from Oxford to Reading via Heathrow Airport. Deal with it.
(lardaholics anonymous, Tue 12 Sep 2006, 15:30, Reply)