London Midland

Dear Sirs,

Firstly I would like to express my intense fury at the latest instalment in a long series of deplorable price hikes in fares. To increase the fixed costs of commuters’ travel when wages are barely even rising with inflation is both insensitive and cruel, especially when other costs of living are too increasingly at alarmingly high rates. I am retired, and I consider myself extremely fortunate that I do not work in London and live at the mercy of your laughably poorly-run organisation. The most diabolical part of your price hikes, though, is that the service is still as odiously dreadful as ever. Where is the value for the train-user? Trains are poorly staffed, dirty, unreliable and filled with screaming children and scum whose antisocial behaviour isn’t kept in check by overstretched employees. I somehow doubt that these problems will be eradicated even with a 8% increase in revenue.

My good lady-wife Agatha and I don’t commute, but we did travel to London by train last week to see the Titanic exhibition at the architectural monstrosity that is the ‘O2 arena’. Although the off-peak price was not unreasonable, the conditions of the train were worse than those of a concentration camp. The seats were filthy and every carriage reeked of human defecation and despair. We came home late and discovered to our dismay that all three of the lavatories were out of use. I am an old man and cannot be expected to wait fifty minutes to empty a brimming bladder, so I asked an attendant to unlock one so I could use the facilities. It soon transpired, however, that the lavatory was closed with good reason as the bowl was overflowing with tepid pisswater and nuggets of human excrement. Clasping a handkerchief to my face like a gasmask and clutching Agatha’s travel-size bottle of doorknob sanitiser, I ventured into the water-closet with an air of trepidation. Like a fireman running into a burning building filled with noxious gas, I was acutely aware that if I did not make sufficient haste the fumes would overcome me and I would quickly succumb to unconsciousness. Fortunately, on this occasion I was lucky and escaped with nothing more than scandalised nostrils and wet shoes. I was able to save them, however, with some cobbler’s shoe cream (£3.25), which I fully expect to be reimbursed for.

The one concession in the whole nightmarish experience was your staff; there was one lady in particular called Mary who was charming, courteous and an all-round shining example of how ticket inspectors should be. In comparison to the rest of your service, she was a gleaming beacon of loveliness, and if anything good is to come from these heinous and rapacious price hikes, I hope Mary is given a raise and a Cadillac as a reward for her excellent customer service.

I look forward to receiving your compensatory cheque for my urine-sodden shoes.

Yours disgruntledly,

Derek Haselhurst-Horton