Virgin West Coast Main Line

"Ok driver, have it your way. I haven't got off at Watford and this isn't a fucking Virgin train."

For a variety of reasons, I have made three trips to north London in the last three weeks. I chose, wrongly as it turned out, to make the trips by train. All the journeys were made at around 2pm on Fridays and, as far as I am aware, the capital has neither moved further away from where I live nor crept up closer while my back was turned. Over the said three-week period there was no volcanic activity in the middle ground which could have thrown up large mountains or gaping chasms in the path of the train. Teleportation was not adopted by Virgin as the new way of getting about, the Royal Train did not run on that line and a hot and a cold running naughty maid service was not introduced for the enjoyment of those in either Cattle or Thatch Class. Why, then, did the same bloody journey at the same bloody time of day in the same bloody manner each bloody time cost a bewildering array of different bloody amounts?
The first trip weighed in at £27 for a return to Euston. I upgraded to Thatch Class when I was told that the Cattle Transportation Wagons were stuffed to the rafters and it would cost just an extra £10 for a seat in one of the plush, half-empty fucking "this is the way it should all be" carriages. I had, in the meantime, decided to get off at Watford (long story) but was told that the train didn't stop at Watford. When it DID stop at Watford I got off! I overstayed my return journey and so had to buy a single to get back home two days later than planned. I opted for Thatch class, as it had not been as expensive as I had imagined the last time I travelled. The cost? £94!!!! How does that work? Single Thatch is more than twice the cost of return Thatch!!!!!
The third trip I asked for a return to Watford. "None of our trains stop at Watford," said the blood-red suited Virgin woman (irony was apparently lost on her). "One did the other week," I chirrupped. "This one, in fact." "No it didn't," she persisted. "Yes it did," I maintained. "No it didn't," etc. etc. "Then how the bleeding Hell did I get off at Watford?" I inquired, beginning to lose it. "Did I leap from the speeding carriage? Do I look like that bloke from the Black Magic advert?" Anyway, to ward off the onset of retirement we agreed that she was right and I was wrong. I hadn't got off at Watford. That must have been the "other me" in our parallel universe. "A single to Euston then, please." How much this time? £10!!! I kid you not, £10!!!! Same day, same time remember.
The return? I got on at Watford for my trip back, again a Friday, again about 2pm. How much this time for a single? £35.90!!!!! Not only is Watford nearer to my home than Euston, why does covering the distance in the same manner cost almost four times as much?
I am convinced Virgin ticket machines are in fact salvaged Enigma coding devices from the Second World War. Staff just key in the destination and the machine belches out one of 23,457,986 different possible ticket prices. Where is Alan Turing when you bloody need him?
Virgin West Coast Mainline has to be diverted through Grantham!