24 January 2012
The black Mercedes is parked at the end of the lane that leads to the train station. It is at the head of a row of cars that fill the parking bays down that one side. This spot offers uninterrupted access to the main road and it used to be mine.
There is a train station 4 miles from our house that boasts a direct service to London and, more importantly, free parking. It's in the middle of nowhere, in so much as its not attached to a commuter town or significant industrial area. It's exactly the kind of branch line station that was closed down in the 60's and 70's.
I was expecting dereliction and decay but when I went to take the train to London that first time, I found it freshly refurbished, bedecked with flowers and armed with a ticket machine that sold rush hour rate tickets at standard rate prices. (to encourage people to use the station, the train manager told me)
In the empty car park I had taken that position at the end of the access road assuming the station would be busy and I would get caught in a jam when leaving. It wasn't busy, there wasn't a jam. I was the only traveller blinking in the spring sunshine that morning 5 years ago.
Things have changed. The car park is full by the time the second train of the day has gone through. Passengers for later trains smoother the adjacent village with random vehicles, desperately seeking some verge, hedgerow or villagers private driveway to stow their silver/grey chunk of German engineering. The tickets are full price now and there is sizeable crowd greeting the 6.14 each morning.
I'm not particularly competitive by nature, but I want my fucking space back. If I left the house a 6am I was pretty much assured my parking space of choice. Today I left at 5.55 and not only was the black Merc already in residence but the car park was looking alarming full as well. Other commuters have discovered the early train.
5.50 tomorrow, I will have my space.
The Black Mercedes • Opuss № I