I was on door opening duty today on the train, both on my commute into and out of the city.
It comes with its own pressures, which, quite frankly, I could do without. It was a crowded train and I found myself wedged against the doors, so when we arrived at stations I didn’t need I could feel the eyes of passengers wanting to disembark burning in the back of my head, hoping I would press the button for them.
There’s always a moment where I begin to believe the button won’t light up and the doors won’t open. But they always do (apart from that time they didn’t, and I ended up having to get off 15 miles further up the track, and I couldn’t find a taxi that would drive me back in time to collect my son from day nursery).
You’d think I’d thrive on the authority of being the Train Door Master. I know some people who go out of their way to manufacture situations where they can be in charge, but it’s too much like hard work for me.
While dealing with the pressures of opening train doors, I was also sweating over my phone staying alive long enough to show the conductor my ticket. For some reason my battery percentage was dropping rapidly just by me looking at the locked home screen.
That train is never not full. Three carriages and I can’t remember the last time my backside touched a seat on that journey. Incredibly, they sometimes run it with two carriages and leave passengers standing on the platform. What would I do in that situation, with a dead phone and no proof of ticket? Conductors must face that situation all the time.
I wrote a shorter Cod Almighty diary today, covering the topic of Evan Khouri leaving the Mariners. I think he’s the longest serving player (or was, as it now is) but at least he can leave the club with his head held high. He played his part in helping develop my son’s interest in football, and Grimsby Town in particular, so he leaves with my best wishes.
We’ll never be able to name Khouri, Turi and Kacurri together in the same XI, and that’s the real tragedy of him leaving.