[Reheated] The Weekly Croissant: Tragedy at the Train Station

Caffeine and Crumpled Dreams

Hello Friends,

I am unable to bake this weekend so please enjoy this reheated croissant from 2023!

I wake at the Premier Inn, my favorite of the budget hotels in the UK.  If Travelodge is the Walmart, you could consider The Premier Inn to be a Target equivalent; A place for the people, with dignity and style (OK maybe style is a stretch). Familiar, comforting, and exactly what you need. 

My task this morning is to figure out how to pack all of my gear in such a way that I can carry it by myself on the train from Bolton, England, to Glasgow, for a show tonight at the Celtic Connections Festival.  

I take stock of the bags that I have; three totes of Merch, a pedalboard, suitcase, handbag, guitar, banjo, and fiddle; it all has to go with me on this train.  I pack all of my sound gear into my suitcase and stuff a bunch of shirts into my banjo case, leaving me with 3 small bags, along with a fiddle, banjo, guitar, and suitcase..  I visualize how it will all hang off of my body; banjo on my back, one tote on the rolling suitcase, fiddle on my shoulder, other two totes on the other shoulders, guitar in one hand, roll bag + tote on top with other.  I can do this. 

This morning calls for caffeine and I devise a new coffee strategy.   I consider hotel coffee to be “pre-coffee coffee”, the substance that gets me out of the door to find another coffee.  Every hotel in the UK provides instant coffee, which I deeply appreciate.  That being said, I am craving something stronger, and decide to try a double-up.  Using the provided kettle and Nescafe packets, I pour half a cup of water into a mug, and then empty two Nescafe packets and two small milk packets into it… in my head, I am singing “are you strong enough to be my man?” By Sheryl Crow.

Sweet Kerry, the tour manager, is driving me to the station this AM, which is very kind, considering I’m just the opener and not really her job.  I thank her profusely and direct her to turn the wrong way down a one-way street. We both yelp, but she takes control and guns it down the tiny road, turning into the train station just before a car headed straight for us, passes.  This car does not seem to be slowing down *at all* despite the fact that it is directly facing a large van going in the opposite direction in the one available lane.  It’s obviously us in the wrong, but I’m just saying, if we were playing chicken, and we kind of were, this car would win.  

I make it to the station where a kind attendant helps me through the disability gate with all of my things and points me to the elevator.  I huff it down to the platform, bags falling down my aching arms.  The transition from platform to train is surprisingly smooth, and I get my first dog-on-train sighting of the day:

Then comes the changeover.  I exit at Preston where I have to catch my next train to Glasgow.  A kind lady offers to help me with my bags, but I’m scared to let anyone carry my instruments lest they suddenly take off running with them. 

I have about 10 minutes to wait for my train and I decide to try for a coffee which is located right on my platform, perfect.  But if I do get the coffee, how will I carry it? You will spill this, I think.  But I need coffee, I think. As always, Coffee wins. 

I watch the large station clock as I wait in line, trying to time out how many minutes each coffee takes, to determine if I’ll have time to get mine before my train arrives.  It seems like about 2 minutes per drink and I’ve got only 3 minutes left.

I get to the front of the line just as my train pulls up. 

Ah! That’s my train, I say, cancel my order. 

It will stay for about 2 minutes, the kind barista says, I can make it in time!

JOY I think in my head, SOMEONE WHO UNDERSTANDS ME

Great!, I say, I’ll just put these bags on the train and come back for the coffee— I won’t even spill it trying to carry everything!

I rush onto the train, where another kind couple offers to keep an eye on my bags.  Why do I trust them? maybe because they have a dog? Maybe because if they want my dirty clothes and merch that bad, they should have them! Again, I’m too afraid to leave my instruments so I just thank them profusely, pile my suitcase and Merch in the train corner, and rush back out to the platform. 

The barista smiles and hands me my coffee and croissant, my hero! I say, and drop an extra pound in the tip bucket.  As I turn, my fiddle swings around and knocks the coffee cup out of my hand.  It falls dramatically to the station floor, spilling hot coffee and milk everywhere. 

There is a collective wince as everyone on the platform sees it happen, and feels the acute pain of the situation; the desperation, the hope, the joy, the let down!

I almost start crying.  Brutal. I say.  Well, we tried. There’s no time to make another.  I run back onto the train.  The couple watching my bags look at me with a pained expression.  They have seen the whole thing out of the window.

Such a shame about your coffee, he says.  Again, I want to cry.  Deep breaths I think, inhale, exhale.  

An adorable little boy comes by and starts petting their dog.  His name is Preston, they explain.  Hello Preston he says. 

Where are you going today? They ask.

“I’m going to Scotland!” He announces in a ridiculously posh accent. 

They laugh, Preston’s going to Scotland too! They say. 

Me too, I think, me too.