Where's the funny in that?

Clutching a ticket for my destination, I'm currently sitting in a railway station. It's the kind of circumstance that might inspire a chap to write a classic song. Alas, I'm not on a tour of one-night stands, nor do I have a suitcase or guitar in hand, rather a tatty sports bag and yesterday's newspaper which, it must be said, don't make for such poetic lyrics.

Anyway, the station in question is Leominster in Herefordshire in the UK and I'm here on the first leg of a somewhat complex journey which will eventually see me wend my way back home to the outskirts of Malaga. I had thought this would be a great opportunity to compare the public transport systems on offer in the UK and in Spain and to look for where each might do a little better and then write a thoroughly entertaining column on the subject for this esteemed publication. The trouble is, everything in both countries has gone ridiculously smoothly; all services have been on time, all staff have been unerringly polite and efficient and all passengers unfailingly considerate to others, notwithstanding a group of recalcitrant youths on a train on their way back home from a festival whose excruciating taste in music was matched only by a woeful display of seat-dancing which I fear will stay with me until my dying day.

To tell the truth, I've probably only noticed how well everything has gone because it's foiled my exquisite plan to write about an endless stream of failings and disasters laden with their corresponding hilarious consequences. That's the thing - we tend to really notice only when things are done badly.

I remember once calling a phone company just to thank them for a brilliant service they'd offered, only to be met with a stunned silence on the other end of the line. I think the poor chap thought I was being sarcastic or something. Can you blame him? Having fended off myriad complaints from purple-faced callers for the last six hours, hearing someone offer a heartfelt 'thank you' must have come as quite a shock to the system. Maybe it went quiet because he was weeping uncontrollably into his lanyard with the mute button pressed down, it's hard to say.

So, anyway, the overall verdict on my holiday transport experience, boring as it may be?

Here goes: Spanish bus service: 10. Spanish train service: 10. UK bus service: 10. UK train service: 10. Seat-dancing: 0.

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