The scene is the platform of a commuter station early one Monday morning. A crowd of regular passengers are awaiting the arrival of their train. One passenger is showing increasing signs of impatience as the train is clearly several minutes late. He turns to a fellow passenger standing beside him unaware that he is the General Manager of the line.

Commuter: Bloody train's late again. I don't know what they think they're playing at.

Listener: I think some engineering work has run a bit overdue.

Commuter: Typical. They can't even get their maintenance done on time.

Listener: Well, sometimes they don't know how much has to be done until they start.

Commuter: Standing up for these layabouts are you. Bunch of overpaid idiots who think they're playing with a toy train set, that's my opinion. They don't give a thought to the fact that they're meant to provide an efficient service - and considering what it costs! Over £5,000 I have to pay for my season ticket and for what?

Listener: I think you're being a bit harsh, aren't you? I think the money is well spent. Think of the many stations that have been refurbished in the last year alone and all the new rolling stock that's been introduced recently.

Commuter: New trains perhaps, but not more seats though. Travelling first class doesn't guarantee you a seat these days - they're mostly taken up by those idle railway workers with their free passes.

Listener: Well, every business has its perks, doesn't it? And it's part of their salary package anyway.

Commuter: You sound as if you're one of them.

Listener: Well, in fact I do work for the railway and I believe we are doing a good job.

Commuter: Good job! Every year the price goes up and service comes down. Not enough seats, dirty carriages, late trains, overpaid staff - are you proud of that I ask?

Listener: I'm proud that our railway network runs over 1500 trains a day taking over 150,000 passengers into Waterloo alone with over 92% of the trains arriving within 5 minutes of the scheduled arrival time. Did you know that? And that despite the fact that every train has to be fully serviced every seven days and carriages cleaned inside and out every two days - and, as for pay, our staff gets no more than the national average for key jobs.

Commuter: Well so you say but, if so, why may I ask do I seem to be the one who has to travel on a dirty train that always arrives late?

Listener: I think you're exaggerating a bit there. As I mentioned we're proud of what we do but over-running engineering work, last minute technical problems or very bad weather will delay trains every once in a while as does staff sickness. However, when the working day starts at 5 o'clock come rain or shine you can forgive the occasional blip surely, can't you? But, tell me, what do you do?

Commuter: Me. Oh, I work for the Post Office.

Listener: Oh! Just the man I've been wanting to meet. Perhaps you can tell me why so many of our first class letters fail to arrive at their correct destination?

Commuter: Oh here's comes our train. Sorry old chap, some other time perhaps but I must try and get a seat. Cheerio.

END

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"THE WRONG TRACK" by Keith Jahans

"It's late again," snapped the man with the briefcase. He was thin middle aged, medium height and wore a smart pin-striped suit. I had just arrived on the platform and had met him face on.

"Oh dear," I said. "How long?"

"Twenty minutes. The announcer says the train from Guildford won't arrive for another another twenty minutes which knowing this station as I do probably is railway speak for it won't arrive for at least two whole hours."

"Travel this line regularly do you?" I asked politely.

"Yes I do," he said. "It's disgraceful. These railway companies get away with raising their fares year after year and yet the abysmal standard of service they offer never changes."

The platform was packed with people and any jostling by irate passengers could make the crowded platform dangerous so I resolved to pacify him. "I'm sure they all must be doing their best," I said.

"Their best!" He bellowed. "This lot are hopeless. At least when it was Government owned there was an excuse for it being cheap and run down. All they are interested in doing now is making a profit and damn the passengers who have to use their trains to get to work. I have an important meeting which I will now miss. I and my staff pride ourselves on keeping appointments. We are always punctual. It's not too much to ask."

I said, "I think in this day and age with our modern democracy we must allow for the occasional inconvenience. Only in countries such as Nazi Germany did trains run on precisely on time."

"Are you taking the Mickey?"

"Of course not. But things happen we can't control so there is no point in getting worked up about it. Let's go to the buffet and have a cup of tea or a Costa Coffee. They have a marvellous selection you know. They've even got Earl Grey."

"So you are a regular commuter as well, are you?"

"Not exactly, it's just that I come here a lot."

"What the hell for. This place is drab and dirty. In fact it's a dump."

"Well, it's not that bad," I said. "I rather like it here."

He gave me a look of utter distain."

"Mr Russell!"

I turned and saw a familiar tubby youth pushing his way through the throng towards me. He was a well meaning if somewhat slow lad who had only recently joined us. "Oh, hello, Terry," I said.

"Glad, I spotted you," he panted. "Those locomotives and the special carriages you ordered have arrived."

"You run this network?" asked the briefcase man.

"He's our chairman," said Terry proudly.

"Chairman, humph. I shall be writing to the transport minister and my local MP explaining that not only can you not run a decent train service, but you also tried to patronise and hoodwink me. Soon all those in high places with whom you depend upon for your contracts will all know the name, Russell and what a downright imbecile you are." He pushed his way abruptly towards the other end of the platform in an attempt to get as far away from me as possible.

"What's that about?" asked Terry.

"Don't worry about it," I said. It's just someone letting off steam."

"Well it's not right," said Terry. "Just because he doesn't like model trains doesn't mean he has to insult the chairman of our local club."

END

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"Rail Sketch" by Ian Hearnden

[The scene - Westbury station, nr Bath, Avon. Two passengers are on the westbound platform - Me (a character with a broad West Country accent), and a man with an Antler travelling case someone who, it emerges, is called Barry]

Announcer: We are sorry to announce that the OH NINE FORTY-SIX departure to EXETER ST DAVIDS is running approximately ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTEEN minutes late. This is due to PASSENGER CONGESTION AT WOKING CAUSED BY LARGE CROWDS EAGER TO OBTAIN SIGNED COPIES OF THE WOKING WRITERS CIRCLE'S SECOND EDITION OF PODIUM MAGAZINE. We are very sorry for the delay to this service.

Me: Now that's typical that. Just bloody typical. Typical, that's what that is.

Barry: [politely, looking up from his copy of "The Stage" magazine] Hmm?

Me: 'Stypical! Can't run the pigging trains on time. It's like the dark ages, y'hear me?1 The dark ages, that's what it's like. This country's going to the dogs.

Barry: [smiling sympathetically, making the slightest noise in agreement] Mmm.

Me: Want to know who I blames?

Barry: [still betraying no irritation] Mmm?

Me: Said y'want to know who I blames? That Daoctor Beeching. Shutting down line after line, like they was going outta fashion. Stupid, it was. Just stupid. Brains of a rocking horse, he had.

Barry: [turning a page of his magazine] Mm-mmmm.

Me: [eyes narrowing a bit] 'Course, you wouldn't remember Beeching, would you? Young whippersnapper that y'are, eh?

Barry: Er, no, er...bit before m'time, I'm afraid.

Me: You thank your lucky stars, lad. Tell you, if I'd've ever've caught sight of Beeching, he'd've had my toe up his ass, no mistake.

Barry: [laughing gently] A lucky escape for him, I should say!

Me: Eh? Oh, arr, too right. A right lucky escape. Bloody...Blobby...Beeching. That's what we used to call him. Right fat bastard he was. Like that...what was he called, that pink monstrosity who was on the telly a few years back?

Barry: Do you mean Mr Blobby?

Me: [getting very animated now] Arr, Mr Blobby, that was him! Christ on a bike, what a waste of space he was! With his stupid eyes, and his stupid bow tie, and his BLOBS all over the shop. Tell you, if I'd've ever've met him in the street, I'd've not've been responsible for my actions, you see if I wouldn't've. Especially if he'd had that plank Edmonds with him.

Barry: Really?

Me: Arr lad. Really.

Barry: [offering Me his magazine] Well, I'm very sorry to learn that. Because that was me.

Me: Eh?

Barry: [continuing to offer Me his magazine] Pages 16/17

Me: [slowly taking the magazine and leafing through it, then reading the caption] "BLOBBY BARRY STILL HAPPILY ON THE JOBBY"...Eh?

Barry: [extending his hand] Barry Killerby, aka Mr Blobby. Pleasure to meet you.

Me: [still reading and too busy digesting the information to shake hands] "BARRY, LEFT, AT THE HEIGHT OF HIS POWERS ON THE SET OF 'NOEL'S HOUSE PARTY', AND RIGHT, UNBLOBBED AND MINUS COSTUME." [after a pause] That was YOU?

Barry: It most certainly was. Indeed, still is. I'm an enduring attraction at children's parties and early 90s revival nights you know.

Me: "Early nineties revival nights"?? What in God's name are you blitherin' on about?

Barry: Oh, they're very much in demand at the present time. If you put me on the spot, I'd say the attraction resides in the simple marriage of retro-kitsch and brightly-coloured innocence which Mr Blobby embodies...

[At that moment, three youths walk onto the opposite platform and, catching sight of Barry as they walk past, shout across to him simultaneously]

Youth 1: Yo Blobby, safe! /

Youth 2: Hey Blob-man, how's it hanging? /

Youth 3: Sweet, Blobby-dude, whassappenin'?

Barry: [to the youths] Excellent, guys; great to see you; take care now, eh? [then to Me] ...excuse me. So, as I was saying, it's that, coupled with a timeless appeal in terms of representing a reassuring, unthreatening presence in a time of economic downturn and consequent financial and domestic uncertainty.

[As Barry finishes speaking, two attractive women in their early forties walk onto the opposite platform. Seeing Barry, they hail him heartily and scamper across the footbridge to join Barry and Me]

Woman 1: [fishing around in her handbag, and producing a photo of Barry as Mr Blobby] Oh Barry, could you...would you sign this for me? Put "From the guy who puts the 'do' in 'do or die'"!

Woman 2: [ballpoint and picture at the ready] And then!...and then!...can you do this one? Can you write "Your deeds are guaranteed to stupefy"?

Barry: Not at all, not at all. A pleasure, a pleasure. And where are you two ladies off to today?

Woman 1: We're off to London!...

Woman 2: To the BBC Maida Vale studios!...

Woman 1: We'd heard about the Crinkly Bottom exhibition they're holding, of Memorablobbilia!...

Woman 1: So of course we HAD to go along!

Both women: It's SOOOOOOOOOOOO exciting!!

Barry: I hope you have much fun and frivolity. But soft! [he cocked his ear at the sound of an upcoming London-bound train] You'd best get back across the platform pronto! You don't want to be late!

[Both women, somewhat reluctantly, shyly peck Barry on the cheek and then

recross the tracks, shouting as they go in]

Woman 1: Barry Blobby, you're the best!

Woman 2: If we DID miss the train because of a few precious seconds with you, it would've been worth it Blobby Barry!

Both women: BLOBBY BLOBBY BLOBBY!!!

Barry: Please accept my apologies. One likes to keep a low profile, but circumstances dictate that it's not always possible. [chuckling] Foolish to expect otherwise, one has to concede, when one owes one's modicum of fame to dressing up as an outsize pink shape with blobs on! [he returns the waves of the two women, and the "All's cool!" hand gestures of the three youths on the departing London-bound train. The women start blowing extravagant kisses at him]

Me: [slowly, after a lengthy pause] So...arr...err...would you have any spare invites for the next nineties revival night?

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