This week I had an appointment with my hand surgeon. Having previously been told that I was likely to be fitted with a new splint on my thumb, I decided to take the train to Chichester to avoid the possibility that I would not be able to drive home with the splint on.
I left ample time to get to the hospital. After all, I’ve experienced many delays on the railways and have heard many excuses such as lack of train staff to severe weather to fallen trees to the wrong kind of leaves on the line. But on Monday I did not expect this one: midway into the journey, it was announced that the train was being stopped owing to one swan on the tracks a little farther on. Thankfully, our conductor was chattier than most and was prepared to engage in information overload.
In the UK swans are a protected species of bird. They are all apparently owned by The Queen. What this meant for us travellers was that we had to wait for representatives of the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds to arrive and move the swan along. The reason, Mr Conductor explained in one of his many updates, was that the driver just couldn’t run over the bird. Apparently, he had never heard of an accident.
So we were diverted to another station and I had to take a £30 taxi ride to the hospital if I was to arrive in time.
As a story, one is amused. Since titles mean so much I can think of two:
Her Majesty messes with my life
OR
Revenge of The Ugly Duckling.
I’m not sure which I prefer. Any thoughts?