Remember the old proverb: patience is a virtue
THERE were plenty of stories that came out of the whole Storm Ciara business that hit the UK last weekend. I read plenty of tales in the papers and online about how people rallied together to help each other in times of need.
I saw chainsaw-wielding householders cutting up fallen trees which were blocking the roads.
I watched footage of people coming to the aid of their neighbours who were trapped in their homes without power.
And I even viewed a video dispelling the clichéd view nonLondoners have of the capital whereby people stuck at a railway station started singing and dancing together in the face of adversity.
But my own experience of the high winds that caused havoc across our region and beyond last weekend is not a happy one.
Because I saw the nastier side of humans and I didn’t enjoy it one iota. I spent last weekend on the Continent having travelled on Eurostar on the Friday to spend time with my pals in Holland.
Most of the way back on Sunday we were checking our phones and tablets to see what chance, if any, we had of getting to our various homes across the UK on the trains.
Kings Cross was havoc, St Pancras was too and Euston had to shut its doors due to the sheer amount of travellers who were there.
As we alighted from our highspeed steed we chose to go and see for ourselves what our chances were of actually getting home.
As I approached the information desk through the crowds, a surprisingly calm attendant was being bellowed at by a passenger.
“But I need to get home,” shouty man screamed at the official.
“So does everyone, but there are obstacles on the line all the way from here to Bedford, three of them in fact. We are doing the best we can to clear them, but I cannot tell you when the line will be open again,” our calm hero replied.
“But it’s not good enough,” shouty man replied.
Then, shouty man two joined in. “Mate, we all want to get home but what is he supposed to do: get some magic invisible train to where the trees are across the line and clear them himself?” shouty man two replied, which did make me laugh quite a lot.
“What’s it got to do with you?” shouty man one snapped back and we ended up with rather an embarrassing confrontation on the concourse, at which point we cut our losses and looked dolefully towards our friend from London, successfully hoping for beds for the night in his spare rooms.
I finally got home the following afternoon, which was ironic in some ways, as Mrs Naylor’s flight back from her weekend away in the Canary Islands, a bumpy landing aside, was almost on time and she managed to get home in the face of Storm Ciara last Sunday, whereas I was forced to hole up in the Hope pub in South London instead.
I am a patient man generally, despite having times where I might not be – driving to and from work on the A52 being a prime example.
But it appears not all of us are and that was brought starkly home to me in the face of last weekend’s Stormageddon, as we newspaper folk often like to say.