“The onboard shop is now open for hot and cold drinks, sandwiches, and sex.”
Either my hearing is going*, or Virgin Trains is really going all out to provide a comprehensive service to travellers before handing over its franchise to First West Coast.
In fact, it’s not just my hearing that’s deteriorating, but my tolerance threshold. The hotel I just left, though further from the conference than I’d expected**, was fine, thank you for asking: clean linen, good breakfast, excellent shower, and the TV had more than four channels. What more can you ask?
But why must cheerful, friendly young members of staff insist on saying “No problem” when they take my order? If I’d thought it was going to be a problem to order something from the menu, I’d have ordered something else, while resolving never to stay at Fawlty Towers again.
So now I feel obscurely and irrationally guilty at have made them waste time on serving me when they could have been in the corner working on their first novel, or their patter for “Britain’s Got Talent”, or working up courage to ask the receptionist out for a drink. Not to mention the resentment I feel at seeing myself turn into the sort of curmudgeon I laughed at when I was their age.
*Logic suggests that the last word of that announcement was actually 'snacks'. Anyway, you’ll be pleased to know that I did eventually acquire hearing aids. Unfortunately, they increase volume well, but don't help much with aural discrimination, so I don't wear them as often as I should. After all, they don’t usually improve the quality of the TV programmes that cross my path.
**Canterbury does have buses, but I've learned over 7.5 decades not to assume that any bus anywhere is going to turn up punctually enough to get to a conference in time.