I love automated announcements

Yesterday, I went to Sittingbourne – gosh, I know how to live!   And even better than that, I spent the whole day in front of a microfilm reader trying to find some of my wife’s ancestors.  They were supposed to have done their collective things in a little place called Milton, which is a pimple on the face of Sittingbourne.  Actually, that’s probably unfair on Milton.  It’s probably a very nice place, and one day I’ll take myself down there for a look around.  So I was in Sittingbourne to see if I could find any of them.

Anyway, the train.  Just as we pulled out of Bromley South station, the nice computerised lady came on the tannoy to tell us that this train would divide at Faversham, and if we knew what was good for us, we’d make damned sure we were in the right part of the train.  Well, she didn’t use those words, but that’s what she meant.

The best bit was when she told us we were in coach 9 of 8.  My fellow passengers and I exchanged quizzical looks, and then she repeated “9 of 8”.

I have to say that the rest of the trip was quite a let-down after that.