Back in the good old days, if you wanted a train ticket, you could either pay a lot of money for a "second class" one or even more money for a "first class" one. Now, this in itself, was a bit misleading, as, unlike stamps, which came in the same two varieties, if you travelled first class you didn't actually reach your destination any sooner than if you travelled second. But it was nonetheless infinitely simpler than it's been since The Powers That Be decided "first class" and "second class" were politically incorrect, and decided to give them arbitrary trendy names like "different class" and "stained class".

More to the point, the said Powers That Be also decided to confuse people by offering tickets at about seventeen different meaningless prices, in order to scare people into thinking there'd be something wrong with the cheapest tickets: that the seats they corresponded to might actually be toilet seats, for example, or on the roof. The upshot of these deals is, though, that if you book your ticket far enough in advance, it can be about three times cheaper than if you get it on the day you travel. Why there is a financial reward for being organised or unspontaneous, I do not know, especially since the working world likes boring sensible people, so, if anything, they should really be charged more in order to be persuaded to work longer hours.

However, as The Powers That Be don't seem to be showing any sign of abolishing this ridiculous system, and I am not aware of any large movement planning to overthrow the government in order to accomplish this, I have tried to learn to overcome my apathetic and spontaneous tendencies so I might not be a victim of its cruelties.

For a while, though, the more organised you were, the more frustration you tended to encounter. When, like me, you live in a town two miles from the nearest railway station, which, despite being the first station in the country to have an automatic ticket machine, does not in fact have one now, much less an employee you can talk to, it used to be necessary to travel twelve miles in order to buy advance tickets. Only to regularly be told that, for no apparent reason, they're not on sale yet.

These days, though, you can book tickets over the Internet and collect them from many major stations, when the time comes for you travel, via a "Fast Ticket" machine, using your credit card and a magic number you get sent. Which all sounds very good, but! But!

The machines are evil! You type in the magic number, from a printed-off e-mail which clearly states you're getting a ticket from London to Bournemouth, say. The screen of the Fast Ticket machine, however, says, "A ticket from Chile to the moon, with the discount gleaned from possessing a chimpanzee's railcard? I say, you don't get many people wanting one of those these days. Expect delays, mate, expect delays. But as we say, it's your funeral, when you travel with South West Trains."

Oh, beepsocks, you think. Now I will miss my train while I wait to ask the sole ticket vendor what's going on here, which will takes ages as he's currently tied up serving a woman wearing earrings the size of hula hoops, who's going, "Can I have a discount cos look at this, right, I’ve got, er, what's the number that comes after four? Six, that's it, children. No, make that seven, I forgot about baby Chatham, so called because me mate told us it’s in to name your kids after exotic places and Chatham's the furthest I've ever been, innit? I'm only fifteen mind, so I ain't doing too bad, is I?"

"Mum! Shalea poured your vodka all over me and she's about to set me on fire!"

"Shut it, you fakking cant! Anyways, can I 'ave a discount then? You'd better give us one or I'll get me bloke to come round and kick you in, once he gets out of prison."

At this point, the machine goes, "Ha, had you going there, didn't I? One ticket from London to Bournemouth coming right up."

As always: gah!