'But I've just traveled in from Liverpool and I've also taken two taxis to get here. You have to let me in!'

Life So it's 3:45 and I'm clock watching. I need to be in Manchester, by 6:15 and I can't be late. Work, which isn't exactly in the centre of town, ends and I dash out onto the road and start walking. A taxi comes. And we get stuck in traffic on Renshaw Street. I'm clock watching. A train is leaving in five minutes. Get to Lime Street Station and make the rookie mistake of giving the driver a ten pound note. Waiting seemingly ages for him to find a five pound note. Dash across the concourse and the train is still there. Get the ticket booth. Order the ticket. The card machine splutters through the pin acceptance. Get ticket. Run through ticket checkers, just as the conductor blows his whistle. I roar, out loud, for the first time in my life. Stroll back onto the concourse. New plan, new train, in five minutes. By pasta meal deal to tide me over. Dash through and get on train. Driver tells me it'll be at Manchester Oxford Road for 5:33. Plenty of time to dash across town. Eat dinner as we pass through Warrington Central. Then at 5:26 the train stalls. We sit in the carriage, all glancing at each other. One girl reading a book smiles at me. Then she smiles at everyone else and I realise I'm not being singled out. 5:30. The driver announces that a train in front of us has broken down and he's waiting for instructions for them to push it into the station. Collective groan. 5:45. I'm getting worried. 5:47. Train moves again. 5:54. Stop. 5:55. Start. 5:59. In the station. Run across the bridge between platforms, dash out of the station and the free bus I was expecting that would have taken me to Victoria is missing. Or not there. Dash out onto Oxford Road, and jump into a taxi. Give my destination, and I'm traveling again. Stuck in traffic. I'm watch watching. It's 6:10. I'm there. It starts at 6:15. I dash through the foyer and stop someone to ask them were I need to go. He tells me. I dash up the escalator, through three floors. Notice someone else going in the same direction to the same place. After some tooing and frowing with security ('Half of the names aren't on my list and I'm just a temp', she says) I dash through into the place where I'm doing the thing. I sit at the front. I'm inevitable chatting with the person sitting next to me. I'm about to describe how I got there, because I can't believe what I went through to get there, and I ask them how they got there, expecting a bus, perhaps some walking. 'Coventry', they say. Always remember that someone else has probably had a greater trial in life than you. But oh the mystery. Why did I travel all the way out to another city? Where was I sitting chatting to this man? What was I doing? All will be revealed Sunday. Which should give some people a clue ...