Train services in Britain, they're great they are

Why, why, why British rail service?

I had to go up to Oxford today to talk at the University and was very surprised to find that the train was only marginally more expensive than the bus services (X90 and Oxford Tube, both wonderful), so I thought I'd treat myself to a train journey and save at least half an hour. How wrong I was. Firstly, I had to wait nearly ten minutes for a tube from Camden to King's Cross, which is ridiculous considering it was mid afternoon and the total time for that leg of the journey equated to the time it would have taken to walk. Then, I had to get the tube to Paddington and all of the westbound trains were delayed. Hump.

Now, this is fairly normal for the tube and wouldn't have inspired a post, so I shall continue. I arrived at Paddington, went to the self collect ticket machine, which proceeded to only vend me my outbound journey, claiming a printing error, and instructing me to speak to the ticket office. The fine gent at said location told me firmly that it wasn't possible for the machine to have said such a thing, and proceeded to infer that I was lying (let me add that I was dappered up in a suit and looking quite the full-fare paying gent). I politely told him that this was not the case, so he had to go confer with his colleague. For 15 minutes. He then made me go out to the machine and double check that I had not dropped the missing tickets, like some mal-co mongoloid. After half an hour of tomfoolery, and missing my intended train, he gave me a 'right to travel' piece of paper.

This fine document clearly stated that it was a replacement ticket and contained all the standard ticket powers. So I finish my job in Oxford, return to the train station, give the bit of paper to the man at the gate, who instructs me to go to the ticket office. Aaaggh. I queue at the ticket office, where the assistant proceeds to tell me that my piece of paper is a replacement ticket. I tell him I know this. He writes me another bit of paper. I go back to the gate. The pig-man gate guarder laughs. I go to the platform. The train is 15 minutes late. I freeze.

So here I sit on the train, firm in the knowledge that the ticket saga is not yet over - I still have to get out at Paddington.

I'm not a man of the world, but I've been on a few foreign trains. They are good. Really good. So why can't the fucking country that invented trains get them to work properly?

Next time I'll take the bus, or walk, or skip, or cycle, or use a space hopper, or maybe even a pogo stick....