On Monday it snowed (in MARCH?!?!?!?!). It snowed and it snowed all day long. Consequently the trains all died. English trains are not built to cope with any weather except that of a mild nature. Unfortunately for me, Monday is the day when I have to use the trains. I cannot drive and I have no other way of getting to my placement. So I set off (wrapped up warm) on my trek through the snow, pulling a large suitcase full of toys, to reach the station. On arrival I was greeted by the display board listing many trains as ‘cancelled’ or ‘delayed’. Luckily for me mine was running on time. My 10.00 train arrived right on time at 10.05, and off we went! We stopped at the next station and people got on and off…. and then we just didn’t leave. Finally a man came through the train proclaiming that the train was terminated and we should go to another platform to get the next one. The next train made it to my destination and I was only half an hour late for my placement. However on the way home, I got to the station only to find that my train was delayed by 10 minutes and the one that had been due half an hour before still hadn’t arrived. This station has very little shelter. It was cold and I was turning very quickly into a snowman (a cold one). Each time we approached the time that one of the two trains was supposed to be arriving the screen would change and it would be delayed another 5 minutes. And then the train that had been due before mine was cancelled, while mine continued to get later and later. I began to imagine that I would be stranded, that I would have to sleep on the station or alternatively spend huge amounts of money on a taxi home. In the midst of these imaginings the screen changed and said ‘Please stand back, the approaching train is not scheduled to stop here’. So we all stood back and watched as a train approached very slowly and ground to a halt in the station. The driver lent out and called out where he was going and it became clear that this was the cancelled train. I am suspecting that he had been told to skip our small measly station due to his lateness but decided to stop anyway. I therefore love this man as he saved me from near certain death by snow. Though obviously I love my husband more.

Once upon a time, in the not too distant past, I was terrified of using taxis on my own. I was perfectly happy to use them in the company of other people because then they took the control. I was completely unhappy to use them on my own because then I had to take the control. My fear revolved around a multitude of unanswered questions…

…. if I get one from a taxi rank, which one do I go to?

…. what if they don’t see me approaching, do I just get in or do I knock on the window to get their attention?

…. what if they don’t know the place I want them to take me?

…. is it acceptable to get in the front or do I have to get in the back?

…. if I am in one of the black taxis with a screen between the back and the drivers seat do I pay through there or should I get out and pay?

…. should I tip?

…. is it compulsory to make conversation?

The fear surrounding these questions was only heightened by the time that my mother once phoned for a taxi to take me home when it was dark and late…

….Everything was going well until we reached my road (which was (it actually still is, but I don’t live there anymore) one of the most confusing roads ever to exist)… the driver did not know where my house was and just drove on past the turning then after a little while asked me to tell him when to stop. Instead of saying ‘actually it was back there’ or even better, notifying him right after he had driven past it, I just said ‘ummm…. its just about here!’. So he dropped me off and then proceeded not to drive off. So I had to walk all the way back down the road the way we had come for several minutes in full view of him and thus looked like a very foolish woman.

I then vowed never to take a taxi on my own again.

Unfortunately I then decided to be a Play Therapist. In order to do this, I had to go several times to a university campus in Kent. This involved getting a train to a place called Tonbridge and then making my way to the campus which was over an hours walk. I therefore had no option but to get a taxi. I was terrified. My husband kindly researched where I should go for the taxi rank and also found numbers for taxi companies should I not find one.

On arriving at the station, I followed his directions and found a line of taxis. I approached the first taxi in the line with my heart beating in my head. I rehearsed my options for if the driver did not notice me. He noticed me. I got in. I asked him to take me to the campus. He said ‘OK’. And off we went. We had a brief chat along the way. When we got there he told me how much it was and I paid him. He gave me change. I got out. And that was it.

I did this several times, each time becoming increasingly confident.

I then got a placement in a nearby town where I again needed to get a taxi from the station. Every single Monday I come out of the station and get myself a taxi. I have now been doing this for several months. A few weeks ago the driver put my bag in the back of the car and before I had even said the place that I wanted to go he said ‘its ________ school, isn’t it?’. This week, I said where I wanted to go and the driver said ‘ah yes, the lady with the bag of toys’.

I am now a Regular Taxi User.