As mentioned in my last post, I intended to take a night train down from Edinburgh to London.
In my eyes, this would have been a wondrous journey: a giant metal link of carriages gliding swiftly over hill and dale as I slept snugly in her confines. I would arise early enough to see the crack of dawn emerge from behind the skyline of London, and subsequently be deposited in King’s Cross station: a magical end to a fantastic journey.
In my haste, I had not booked an overnight, nonstop train. I was to take a train from Edinburgh at 8:00pm that would strand me halfway in Leeds at 1 in the morning.
Here I slept for 4 hours. A tweed covered hobo sprawling over two chairs, with uncomfortable handrests in between.
And Leeds station is not a pretty place on a Late Friday night. A woman who had very clearly enjoyed her night out ejected the contents of her stomach some ten feet away from me. At 1:00am, the cleaning crews were not alerted. I promptly moved.
Later, I happened on my first instance of paid toilets. Note to future travelers: they only accept exact change, as I found to my chagrin.
Eventually 5:00am did arrive and I boarded my connecting train to London.
In retrospect, I have no one to blame but myself.
But it’s really just easier to blame the entire city of Leeds.