I had to travel from Manchester City centre to Crawley, near Gatwick Airport tonight. I set off in the blazing heat from Manchester Piccadilly train station at 1615. I was in my hotel by 2000. I travelled on time, through three rail networks. It relied on tons of people doing the thing they’re paid for properly.
It’s a shit blog post, I get it. But it was a brilliant journey.
I’m ridiculously grateful that I live in a country where this stuff doesn’t automatically create a story worthy of the internet.
Try not to lick it 