THE GENERAL PUBLIC TRANSPORT

Help! I am among the general public again!

We left St. Erth at about midday yesterday. Me, I love traveling by public transport especially if it runs on rails. When I lived in Goteborg I often familiarised myself with the excellent tram system they have there by going the length and breadth of the network during the school holidays. I only just stopped short of collecting the names of the trams as they ground to a halt at intersecting stops. So on returning to this country I was keen to continue in this mode. However as we know, our public transport system leaves a lot to be desired. How delighted I was then to be transported effortlessly down to Cornwall aboard a smooth running Great Western Express. Trouble is, for all it's ease of use over the same journey by car, traveling by train (or bus) has one serious drawback; you are required to rub shoulders with the GP.

On the journey home, the opposite. Mum, a blond young mother with a London accent honed to perfection by being plonked in front of 'Eastenders' from a young age, her sister and grandma, found themselves in charge of another very active youngster. This time however, the mum was more interested in reading 'Celebgossip Weekly' or some other such mag and frequently told the little girl to 'sit down and be quiet'. This on a six hour journey!

So the joys of riding on public transport are not always positive but I think still preferable to the long car journey, cocooned in a metal cannister with only a sleeping passenger for company, or, as I have experienced only too frequently bored and badly behaved children.

So what of our two days down there at the End Of England? We both have really enjoyed it. For those that have been, a visit to Cornwall is like moving temporarily to another country so different is the life down there. True, the GP love to visit and St. Ives was full of them. But there was a really great atmosphere no matter where we went. Even on the very crowded beach yesterday where Fran and I were beginning to hyperventilate due to the proximity of beer belly, tattooed tit and her husband, it was easy to escape the hordes and find oneself in splendid isolation, after just a fifteen minute hike up the cliff face. Call me a snob if you want but when you live in The Home Counties the last thing you want is more of them when you go away.

Having said all of that, it is much preferable to the steaming heat of The Far East where you find yourself stepping over down and outs who look as if they will be truly out by the following day, as you make your way to the restaurant for your evening meal, preferable to the starkness and stone of Malta, or 'Basra' as Liam O'Donnell christened the view across the rooftops and the surly opportunistic rip-off culture that is slowly pervading the islands of The Caribbean and which will soon denude all of them of their individuality.

Our country it seems, still has a great deal to offer, it still has history and a culture which is the envy of many others, it still has cosiness which is as unique as the ales in Ade's fridge. What a pity then someone can't improve the overall 'smarts' of the population. Come on you lot, Eastenders isn't real, what is portrayed there isn't admirable and nothing for you to absorb and develop, TV isn't king and reality game shows are not real. Only Star Trek can manage that!