They cancelled my perfectly good train in the time it took to ride to Mordor Central, presumably because they needed to send it back to the West Country. Their best (read: only) suggestion was the delayed 19:57 to Manchester Piccadilly. "Manchester?" says I, "doesn't that mean I'd have to go via Leeds?" "Probably." says Brummie Train Bloke, evidently ignorant of matters north of Stoke-on-Trent or south of Watford Gap "...Which is also a clusterfark?" says I, pressing the point. I received the Shrug Of Doubt and wandered off to fiddle with the interwebs in search of further enlightenment.
The interwebs suggested that I had a slim chance of a connection via the last sardine tin to Huddersfield, and an optimistic direct train from Victoria that would get me to York a few minutes late for the start, if it wasn't cancelled like all the other ones. On the basis that this was highly likely to end in either a Friday Night Ride to the Mother-In-Law's or a Friday Night Ride Up The Hill Out Of Huddersfield, I decided not to go to Manchester, as it is a silly place.
Hopefully the ride won't suffer too badly through the absence of my magic rainlegs.
