The Train

11.05 am, 26th October 2006.
Carriage C of the 8.47am train from Basingstoke to Durham.

'Beebies Stickers!'
'Sorry my love, you've used all of them. What about those car stickers?'
'No?'
'Or perhaps the ones with the butterflies on them.'
'No?'
'Why don't we draw a picture?'
'No?'
'Alright. Let's read a book'.

Silence. Ladies and gentlemen, we may have a winner.

'How about 'Baa Moo, What Will We Do'?'
'No?'
'Elmer?'
'No?'
'I know, 'Aaaaaargghhh, Spider'.'

Silence. Finally. We've found something she wants to do.

'It's really lonely being a spider. I want to be a family pet. This family's pet...'
'DOWN!'

Little Miss wrestles herself free and makes a break for the carriage exit, with her Daddy in close pursuit.

How did we find ourselves in this predicament?

My birthday was almost two months ago. After struggling to find me something for several weeks, Mrs Koinuchan had a brilliant idea. We should go on a little nostalgia trip back to Durham. I was a lowly post-graduate student at Durham University when we met, and she thought that seeing all our old haunts would be a pleasant and fun thing to do. We could pretend that we were still young and carefree (albeit with a two year old in tow). We could have delicious pub grub in the Court Inn, walk along the river, feed the ducks and be like we were Back In The Day.

Getting to Durham posed a problem. Should we fly? This would involve getting to Heathrow (train? taxi?), getting though check-in, boarding a plane, flying to Newcastle, catching a train down to Durham and then catching a taxi to our hotel. This might be feasible when you are a young, energetic student; it is utterly daunting when you are on a journey with the most reluctant traveller ever to grace this planet.

If taking the plane is not a possibility, why not drive? It is 281 miles between our house in Basingstoke and our hotel in Durham. Assuming that our average journey speed would be about 55 miles an hour (allowing for traffic) that means that I would have to listen to Josie Jump asking us to 'jump a little higher' approximately eighty-four times door to door. I'd rather gnaw my left leg off.

National Express? See above, minus the in car entertainment and with considerably less leg room. My right leg would be a goner too.

Since teleportation is an appealing but scientifically impossible option, this left The Train. It didn't seem such a bad idea. Little Miss would have plenty of room to wander around and we would be able to book a seat with a table, allowing her to play with her stickers and do some drawing. She even seemed excited by the idea when we were waiting on platform 4 of Basingstoke railway station.

The true nature of our situation only became apparent one and half hours into the six hour journey. This was when Little Miss realised that we had a limited number of stickers and apparently none of her favourite picture books. (This preferred reading list changes hour to hour and will never include anything that you might have brought). This was compounded by the problem of finding her something to eat from the cornucopia of culinary delights available in the buffet car. Difficult enough when you are a hungry, unfussy adult; damn near impossible when you are a picky toddler.

By the time we got to Leeds, we had reached crisis point. The train was running half an hour late. Little Miss was supposed to have started her afternoon nap two hours ago. She had eaten the fruit bars, bread sticks and apples we had brought for her. Our sandwiches were deemed inedible due to their minimal cheese content. Polly (her rag doll) had been consigned to Daddy's rucksack. The grandmotherly type that Little Miss K had charmed three hours ago was now looking murderously at her and her parents. It was time for drastic action...

It's a little known fact outside of parenting circles, but mummies have mystical and wonderful super powers. For example, a mother can calm their screaming child to sleep just by holding them close to their breast. I've tried it, but I always end up with a mild case of tinnitus and an angrier and more miserable child than when I started. Mrs K can achieve the impossible within three minutes flat.

Mrs K did her thing and Little Miss fell asleep. The silence was wonderful. No, more than that. It was beyond superlatives. The half-deafened denizens of the carriage went back to their sudoku and crosswords. I slept; Mrs K read.

As we pulled into Durham, Little Miss' eyes popped open and she started to grin.

'Bye bye, train. All done!' she giggled. And she scuttled off after her mother.