It’s the time of year
Now that Spring is in the air
When those two wet gits with their girly curly hair
Make another song for moronic holidays…
I’m sorry, that’s the opening to Spitting Image’s The Chicken Song. I’ll start again.
It’s the time of the year where everybody who enjoys a good game of tennis gathers in one place: Wimbledon, South London, to watch the best of the best thrash each other with their balls with the sounds of grunting and occasional comedic goings-on:
Most people will be getting to Wimbledon by train. And do you think South Western Railways has thought of putting on extra trains, extra carriages and making the suburban routes that little bit better? Of course not, that would be sensible.
It ha been absolute hell getting to Wimbledon – where I work – for the past week, and we have another week to go. At one point, the trains were so packed that after the next train arrived, a 4 car formation, I just gave up and went and worked from home.
With recent strikes, and a pitiful service that is not helping relieve the pressures of the Wimbledon championships, SWR is not fit to run a train service. I sincerely hope they lose their franchise. If I’m honest, I’m hoping the UK government will make it a public service again – just like the East Coast service.