Ticket booking with First Great Western – step two

A couple months ago I blogged some feedback about the new First Great Western online booking system. I also blogged about one particular member of their staff who I felt had dealt with me, and my fellow tweeters, particularly well – Ollie. Since then I have received lots of tweets and comments from fellow train users, I’ve learnt about the background of the booking system, had it inferred that I’m a simpleton, moron and indeed zombie, and also been promised a new upgrade to the system in April that will make it easier. Check out the comments on the first post for more of the picture.

So imagine my frustration when I went to book a ticket to Gatwick airport for later this month. Strangely trains seemed to run every hour but the FGW site didn’t allow me to book the 10.32 train direct to Gatwick – it would allow me to book two separate journeys – to Reading and then again on from Reading, at higher cost of course, but the 10.32 isn’t given as an option.

So, I trundled over to the trainline site and yes it’s available, if I’m prepared to stump up the booking fee:

Reg, on the FGW twitter account today, replied to let me know that they all use the same booking system so it shouldn’t be any different – which is what I’ve been told before. I’m partly writing this post to share with Reg to provide evidence that there’s a gap between what *should* happen and what does happen. I’ll wait to see if this changes but in the meantime I’ll be taking my zombie arse down to the station to book in person later today and will have to hope the price hasn’t escalated in that time.

There’s nothing like technology making life easier, and more efficient….not.

Ticket booking with First Great Western #feedback

I had a moment this evening, a little one, where my frustration peeked when I went to book my train tickets for next week. I try not to book with The <insert mode of transport>line because they are explicit in their charges of a booking fee and a credit card transaction fee. Of late I’ve tried to book with First Great Western, the train provider on my route. I’m not completely sure that it ever works out any cheaper, my hunch is that they sometimes roll the associated fees into the fare and hope you won’t notice, but I used to give them that because their booking process just felt cleaner than the other service.

Except relatively recently FGW redeveloped their website booking system. I’d been very fortunate until the end of last year to be in a position which afforded me Rachel, an angel sent from heaven, who was employed as my shared PA. It took me a while to become truly dependent on Rach but eventually I gave in to my inner-working class guilt and decided to allow her to organise my life, and she was great at it. No longer did I have to worry about booking train tickets, or finding the best fare (because I’ve got an almost compulsive obsession when it comes to finding cheap travel), this was all looked after for me. Right now I’m cursing that I allowed myself to indulge and develop such dependency, and I’m also cursing First Great Western for their changes. I offer you the background in case it is just me being mardy, and to legitimately allow anyone to call me on being precious if I am the only one with issues!

So what happened I hear you ask….the following screen grabs indicate what happened (don’t worry you don’t need to be able to read them, although if you click and zoom you probably can, they’re just indicative):

1. Nice front page, clear form, pretty pictures – seriously it’s good and even warns me about upcoming work at Reading. So far, so good.

2. Enter details and you’re presented with this screen. The top boxes are possible fares, the bottom boxes train options. Given I specified a time I think two or three train options, four at a push, would suffice – there are only three options within two hours of the time I specified.

At this stage I now know (from talking to awesome Ollie who mans the FGW twitter account) that if I select the fares I’m interested in the fares according to each train will be displayed.

3. Taking Ollie’s advice this is what show’s up.

However, having no Rach in my life, and until this evening no Ollie either, I have simply selected the train I wanted – after all I’m motivated by getting to London in time for work. So let’s start again:

4. Bizarrely on this occasion when I went to book a return it only gave me one window to complete (as though I wanted a single) – I suspect this is a minor bug because I returned to the booking page from within the programme. Anyhow I enter my details having hit refresh to fix that.

5. This is what happens if you pick by train – the only indication of what fare is available is the feint grey line around the box – none of the pink colouring used earlier, and it’s not easy to spot.

6. This was the screen once I’d checked out – this is really just to draw attention to the overlapping frames, minor, but again not the sleek experience I’d hope for.

All of this is intended as feedback for First Great Western because I don’t think it’s possible to make clear in a tweet. At this rate I may just go back to the other provider, depending on whether my feedback is acted upon, a gauntlet thrown down by @JamesMB.

Ollie who was on the @FGW twitter account was awesome, and James was quick to acknowledge how good he is too, so let’s see if the rest of FGW respond with the same customer facing skills. Watch this space, I’ll keep you posted!

Brussels – holiday stop one

It’s been a month since I’ve blogged about anything other than Dad, death or dying. So I thought it was time to share some other random experiences and some photos from my holiday.

In terms of context, I finished work shortly after Dad died (a month ago), and the overwhelming feeling was one of exhaustion. This quickly gave way to the realisation that I had a newfound freedom, a lack of responsibility, very few stressors, routines or preoccupations to worry about. We had been hoping for a holiday in October/November but once I’d resigned and knew that Dad’s health was on another decline any plans of travel were shelved. We decided to grab the opportunity of a commitment in Stockholm to build a holiday around and bought interrail tickets the same week as Dad’s funeral, which took place on a Thursday with us leaving the following Wednesday. The next few posts will document some of the highlights so far, but in a nutshell we’ve trained our way around Europe managing to sample the Eurostar, Belgium, German, Danish and Swedish trains. There’s been loads of snow, culture, christmas markets, hostels, adventures, and photos.

First stop was Brussels. I’ve wanted to travel on the Eurostar for years and it was quite exciting and completely seamless. Brussels itself was kind of meh! Don’t get me wrong it had some good bits, the Comic Strip Museum was well worth a look at and the waffle was super, but I wasn’t really feeling it. That could have been nothing to do with Brussels but it sort of added to my stress, didn’t remove it. It felt quite haphazard as a city, which is normally something I quite like, but it felt like it was missing a magical something. I suspect that Brussels would grow on me but it didn’t grab me.

There were a couple of highlights in our 24 hours, one was the restaurant we found out in the district were our hostel was and the other was a parade we stumbled across. The restaurant was really out of keeping with the area, it was a complete lucky discovery courtesy of a 4 square check in <the next time someone asks me what the point of #4sq is I’ll be offering this culinary example>. We’d been for a couple of beers and had been struck by how revolting bars are where people still smoke. One of the bars sold pot noodles as their food offering, the other peanuts – you get the culinary level we’re talking about, then out of nowhere there was this lovely French restaurant Chez Soje. We were the only customers, I don’t think Wednesday night would be their busiest but the food was amazing. If you’re ever in the area then it’s well worth a try.

The next day we went for an amble around Brussels, visiting our first Christmas market of the trip, spotting an impressive Christmas installation in the beautiful square:

Then we had to swing by the peeing man, Mannekin Pis, who was dressed as Santa – a tiny bit surreal:

and it just got a little more random as we walked past what google suggests was the St Nicolas/Sinterklaas parade – which to all intents and purposes looked like a bunch of students having a carnival and drinking in the street, while the police closed the traffic down and ensured they did so safely:

and the main man himself:

Next stop was Cologne so keep your eyes and ears peeled!

Life after Bobby: Week 3

It’s three weeks since Dad died, in some ways I can hardly believe it and in some ways it seems much longer. The two weeks between his death and funeral felt quite strange, it was good to be getting on with things, to be planning, organising and arranging. It was lovely to hear so many tributes, comments and memories about Dad and to get in touch with so many people who we’ve not been in touch with for a while. Lots of people were surprised that Dad had died, even though the majority of people knew he was ill, lots of people have also commented on the fact that he never really looked ill, he never complained and they hadn’t expected the news. We have had stacks and stacks of lovely, lovely comments, of cards (Mum has over 70), flowers, phonecalls, facebook and twitter messages and general sentiments and wishes sent from across the globe. It is a real comfort to know how much Dad was loved and respected, and also to hear of his quirks and foibles too, he wasn’t a saint after all.

Dad’s funeral was really special, it went completely without a hitch, as he’d have wanted it to. The Church was packed (my irrational fear was that not many people would be there – I really needn’t have worried), the cadet gang turned up in uniform (which I reckon Dad would have loved), the service was proper without being too Holy and I’m delighted to report that Dad’ s eulogy went well. I was giving it and given that I’m quite used to public speaking I wasn’t too worried about the audience (and lots of people had reminded me that everyone was on my side at this gig), I was confident about the content (you can read it here – in one way or another I’d had long enough to think about it) but I was concerned that I would be overcome with emotion.

Seemingly so were lots of other people! Contingency plans were put in place, practices were held to identify the trigger points that got me every time (1. Mention of my sister’s best mate/ Dad’s surrogate daughter since her own Dad died about 15 years ago; 2. Mention of Dad’s partner in crime Pete; 3. Mention of my nieces), I read it out load and tweaked it till I was almost bored with it – I’ve never prepared so much for anything. On the day the preparation paid off, aside from a brief moment where I went Welsh (it’s impossible for me to say bargain without using a Welsh accent) it went completely as I’d hoped. I held it together, spoke slowly, paused for emphasis and didn’t lose it until I sat back down. Afterwards everyone was telling me how proud Dad would have been, and I knew it and felt it. He would have loved his funeral service, and he also would have loved the cream tea we had afterwards.

The other thing I’m confident Dad would have liked was the Ikea pencils and the memory postcards we had for people. The postcards were designed to capture people’s memories of him so that we can look over them, and share them in years to come with his grandchildren and others who didn’t get to meet him. The design on them was quite simple – his letter boxing stamp and his details – we had a few left for us filled out on the day but we’re hoping that some will arrive back through the post in due course. Mum has also been able to send them with copies of the Order of Service and eulogy to people who weren’t able to make it on the day, we’re hoping that by sharing their memories, they’ll get to feel more involved in some way.

After the funeral we had a cream tea in the parish hall – the scones were from Devon Scone Company and they were an absolute bargain and really lovely! Check out their website if you’re looking for scones any time soon!

The immediate aftermath of the funeral saw time spent with family and friends who had travelled down to be with us. There was lots of reminiscing and remembering and lots of time spent with my nieces who are a great distraction. The most heart breaking bit was when my Uncle turned up (actually the day before the funeral) and Libbie looks up and announces to the room it’s Grandad – luckily my sister had already anticipated that this might happen and so we were somewhat prepped for it, they do look very alike, and in a way that only two year olds do she completely accepted that it wasn’t Grandad and got on with the rest of her day.

The emotional rollercoaster didn’t end there though. That weekend I went into my office to clear it out – I was officially on leave for the two weeks after Dad died but they were my last working weeks of my job, so I needed to empty/sort/handover things. A couple of hours, four black bin bags and six years of my life – done, like that. As I jumped in my car to drive home my immediate thought was that I couldn’t wait to ring Mum and Dad to tell them I’d done it, and then it hit me, like a four tonne truck in the chest – no can do. I couldn’t ring Mum and Dad, even though my mobile still told me I could it was lying, alongside the cheap trick of my subconscious, a nasty one at that – I rang Mum instead, but that was the first real time since Dad had died that I felt I was unprepared for missing him, and the only way I can describe it was that it was a full on force.

I’ve felt it a few times since, none as full on as that. On Tuesday I got my OU exam result (72%) and overall result for the module (73%). Even though nothing about that course was about the grades for me, I was chuffed and I wanted to share that with the folks. Mum was delighted for me, and was pleased with herself too – I can’t tell you how many times she had to encourage me not to drop out of that module, it really wasn’t the best six months to be trying to study, but I’m glad I did it. I’ll blog about that another time and may even write it up for my new work blog that you can read on my new website here.

The final thing worth mentioning since Dad died is the sense of freedom. It feels incredibly odd, massively liberating and if I’m completely honest a little scary being able to plan for the future without having to worry about Dad, or Mum. I’m able to book a holiday or arrange a weekend away, to look at potential jobs and consider moving to London, or further afield, I can have a drink any evening and not worry about having to be sober to drive to the hospital/parent’s house. I hope that the timing of Dad’s death will mean that my Mum and I will both be able to find a new path in life, one where we can remember Dad and celebrate his life, but also create our own again. I’ll keep you posted on how that works out but for now I’m grabbing the opportunity by the scruff of the neck and am holiday for a couple of weeks, touring European Christmas markets and sampling international festivities. I’ll worry about 2013 and the realities of the future once I’ve recharged my batteries and got through our first Christmas without Bobby J. It’ll be different but it’ll be joyous, just as he would have wanted it.

Time for some #homeadvantage

I was in London at the weekend, and again for work today, and on both occasions I’ve been struck by the new BA Olympics adverts. A tongue-in-cheek series focusing on the Olympics and encouraging people not to fly, instead promoting staying home to support Team GB during the Olympics and Paralympics.

There are a series of billboard and tube adverts too, and you can even type in your postcode on the BA website and create your own advert featuring a plane down your very own street, just click the link and enter your postcode.

It will be interesting to see how this campaign works for BA, I’ve always liked a spot of reverse psychology and I for one will be keeping an eye out for summer holiday bargains during the Olympic season. Until then, I’ll be supporting Team GB and their #homeadvantage all the way.

The cancer rollercoaster: living with the unknown

April has felt like a long month, the reality of course is that is all perception, it’s actually only 30 days and I’ve been away for a significant chunk of it, which has perhaps stretched it’s length in my mind. I blogged at the start of the month about Dad’s latest treatment (blood transfusions and chemotherapy) for managing his cancer. At the time I expressed my concern that I was travelling a bit in April and would be away from home if anything happened. The professionals had predicted that if Dad was likely to have an adverse reaction to his chemotherapy it would happen over Easter weekend – sure enough they were right with the expected response, and almost precise on the timings, Easter came and went in an unremarkable fashion and Dad was admitted to our local hospital on the Tuesday that followed. He had an infection, it wasn’t clear what sort or how to manage it, but he was kept in isolation and looked after until he was stabilised.

The weekend that followed I had the absolute pleasure of a weekend in Bonny Scotland. Great idea, lonnnng way. Up to Scotland on the Friday and back on the Monday. I visited Dad on the Thursday evening and he was crystal clear that I had to go, and that my life couldn’t be put on hold for his. He was sent home that weekend and I had a great time away, helped in some part due to my complete lack of mobile signal so I didn’t keep checking my phone for missed calls or texts, which was a welcome relief in itself.

The following week I was working away (at ADASS Spring Seminar) from the Wednesday – Friday. Dad had already had his second course of chemo cancelled given his initial reaction, but seemed to be picking up when I saw him that Tuesday evening. Dad and Mum had an appointment with his oncologist (only the second scheduled appointment I’ve missed since Dad was diagnosed over 4.5 years ago) on the Thursday of that week and he surpassed their expectations again – he appeared to be making a remarkable recovery, his internal bleed and blood loss seemed to have slowed down and he was feeling a lot better. As Mum described it this evening, they had a taste of normality – he was even able to take their dog for a walk on the beach, the first time he has been well enough to do that in months.

The weekend that followed I flew to Ireland for a conference (#EIPIreland) for three days and then stayed on in Ireland for a friend’s wedding this last weekend. On Thursday I got the text I’d been dreading from Mum that said Dad was being admitted to hospital by ambulance for transfusion asap. I’ll spare you the details, mostly because they’re completely inconclusive, but it looks like Dad’s body is struggling to cope – what’s not clear is whether that’s because he was too anaemic for the chemo, or whether it’s a result of the chemo, or indeed whether it’s because his body is slowly starting to shut down, or given Dad’s unique trajectory with this illness to date whether it’s something altogether different.

Having had a week away, I went straight to the hospital on my return yesterday (incredibly grateful that I was back on home soil, Dad hadn’t died while I was away and that my brother had come down to support Mum in my absence) and was gob smacked by how exhausted both my parents looked. It was only a week since they were walking the dog on the beach in the sun – not that you’d have thought as much if you’d seen them. I felt a huge responsibility, not that I could have done anything differently, but I felt like I’d left them to deal with things, and they looked like they’d paid the price for that.

Just about the only thing that is clear this evening is that the bed Dad had in the local hospital was needed for someone else, he was growing increasingly agitated and exhausted with trying to understand the system/decisions/information, and he was being discharged irrespective of the knowns or unknowns. It’s been quite an immersion, not that I ever really escaped it on my week away, but it’s a real reality check as I sit on their sofa banging the keys trying to make sense of it, or share the lack of sense in it with you (assuming as the eternal optimist I am that someone has read this far), and think about how all encompassing living with not knowing is. There are so many unknowns and so little certainty, the immediate reflection is that it can feel overwhelming at times. It’s like a constant faulty rollercoaster ride that you can’t get off, occasionally it slows, in fact sometimes it stops just long enough for you to feel rational/balanced/normal again then it’s like it flies off again, throwing any sense of equilibrium out the side of the ride with you.

There are loads of immediate questions we have, the most immediate include whether Dad will need to stay on the new drugs he’s been given in hospital this time or change again; will he have a PICC line inserted after 11 failed attempts to insert a cannula at the weekend; will his chemo be continued; how long can he cope with the constant intervention; how long can the NHS afford to provide intervention/blood/chemo; whose advice should we take and/0r who should we ask questions of. That may give you a smidgen of a sense of the level of not known.

Then of course there is a continual, constant balancing act of making the right call around priorities in life. The hard thing about knowing someone you love is terminally ill is that it provides a lens of constant reflection, every decision (if you allow it) could take on a significance of monumental proportions. Well maybe I’m being a little dramatic, perhaps not every decision, cocopops or muesli for breakfast shouldn’t have a massive effect, but knowing whether to visit tonight or wait until tomorrow could.

My colleagues have been constantly supportive, encouraging me to take what time I need, the reality is that I don’t know. If I take time now is it an indulgence, will it scare Dad into thinking I think he’s dying (and put him in a negative mental place that suggests I don’t believe he’ll live much longer), will it just put other elements of my life under more pressure in the long run, will it just add to the pressure that my folks are already under, if there is one thing I have learnt it’s that multiple people hanging around and waiting to understand the vagaries of the NHS is not a good use of their time and definitely puts your already strained relationships under more pressure.

Likewise people have offered to help in any way they can, the reality is I don’t want to call on people’s offers of support now unless I really need it because I don’t know if we’ll need it more later, it’s a bit like the boy who cried wolf I suppose – it’s impossible to know what the future holds so you just have to juggle the unknown and hope you make the right call. I’m not really sure where I’m going with this post, in fact I might not even publish it because it feels like a lot of rant with not much purpose, an almost indulgence (the worst kind of blog post). That said if this goes any small way to share the experience with anyone else then maybe that’s no bad thing. It’s really exhausting constantly living with an awareness of the unknown…the huge irony of cause is that we all live in this existence every day, even if we don’t recognise or realise it.

It takes time

A couple weeks ago I had the pleasure of being on holiday in Beitostølen in Norway. I’ll do a post holiday reflection blog another time, but suspect it’ll be broadly similar to last year’s – which you can read here if you’re interested.

In this post I wanted to share some sage advice that I was generously given by the man in the photos. On Tuesday of my holiday, feeling somewhat bruised (physically and psychologically having tried my skis on for the first time the day before), I decided to go for a walk after lunch – following the cross country route I wanted to ski the next day. This had two advantages, firstly I could see where I was going so I knew what to expect the next day, and secondly if I followed the tracks I couldn’t get lost.

I was on my way down to have a nose at the hut in the first picture when I saw a sight I’ve never seen before, a man skiing with a sausage dog under his arm. I smiled, took a couple of photos and marvelled to myself at his ability to ski and carry a dog. Seriously impressive stuff. The man and his dogs made their way off down the track and I went to have a nose around the hut, before making my way in the general direction of Beitostølen Stadium.

About an hour later I came across the same man, and his dogs, on their way back from their ski (it really is a novel way to walk a dog). This time we stopped to have a chat, he asked if I was pleased with my photos, I explained I was, we commented on what a beautiful day it was and I admired his skiing ability – sharing with him that I’d been incredibly impressed to see him skiing and carrying his dog. He explained that the doggy was getting on, and too slow, to walk the whole lot – I laughed and made a joke about my poor skiing ability and how I hoped one day to be able to ski and carry a dog, or perhaps more helpfully carry a camera without fear of damaging it. He looked me right in the eye and simply said, ‘Don’t worry, it takes time’.

I’m not sure whether he meant learning and perfecting skiing ability takes time, or whether he meant stopping to take photos takes time. Either way it became a mantra for me throughout the rest of the week as I struggled to give myself permission to make mistakes, to need to take time to improve my ability to stand upright, and harder still to bring myself to a dignified stop.

I thought I’d share it with you guys, I think it’s a great lesson for life, especially if you’re getting impatient with the lack of progress in a situation, as a wise man on skis carrying a dog once said ‘It takes time’.

Payment correction due to an operational issue

A couple weeks ago I received an email from TFL (Transport for London) about a payment correction. It read as follows:

Fantastic, or so I thought, TFL are taking responsibility for some problem (which to be honest I’m not sure I’m even aware of) but I suspect it was something to do with some of the tube lines being out of sync or out of action that day. Except today I received another email from TFL, this time letting me know I’ve not collected the refund they authorised and telling me how to re-arrange collection. So, in theory this is good news, but I wasn’t aware there was a time limit on the first email, I’m not sure whether there is a time limit on the second, more importantly I don’t see why TFL can’t just apply the credit to my account without me needing to ‘collect’ it.

They should have enough data about my travel habits to spot that I don’t live in London, or to at least realise that I don’t regularly use the tube, even if I frequently do. They have enough data to know I’d only visited that actual tube station twice in the last year, they should know the station I visit most regularly is Paddington, and I would have thought that all of this is irrelevant and they could apply it remotely.

Anyhow, I’m just interested if anyone knows more about what they can or can’t do and/or what they choose to do and/or whether these corrections expire at all? As someone who doesn’t live in London but has been regularly using the tube for years, the idea of a refund is so novel I don’t want to waste it! Any ideas?

Another trainline fail

Booking train tickets is the bane of my life. I’m very lucky in that I have someone who can help book my travel if I’m organised far enough in advance to ask them to do so, however the reality is I’m not always as organised as I’d like – especially when I’m trying to juggle work travel with some sort of social life at home. This week I’m off to give a masterclass on research use in #socialcare practice at Kingston University. This makes my soul ache for numerous reasons, namely the eight hours travel (at least) on a Friday, the feeling of losing some of my weekend by being away from here on a Friday, the inevitable busy trains, the fact that Kingston is a good hour and a tube/bus/walk away from Paddington. Luckily, the subject matter makes my heart sing and I’m optimistic that the session itself will be good fun, and hopefully well received, and I was invited by Ray Jones who has been a staunch supporter of our organisation for years, so I’m delighted to be going, just less delighted with the travel.

Anyhow, why am I waffling on about this? Well tonight I decided to book my travel, and what happens:

I wasn’t allowed to book a ticket, the system didn’t tell me I couldn’t book, just that I couldn’t book accommodation – which I’m guessing means a seat. Please tell me the train companies are not allowed to now sell you a ticket without a seat? Booking train tickets has stolen so much of my life over the past few years I couldn’t face fighting the booking system. I decided writing this and appealing to the wisdom of twitter, was more likely to resolve the issue.

So any ideas for how to book my travel? Please? Or any offers of lifts door-to-door gratefully received!

Travel insurance when relative has terminal #cancer diagnosis

In about a month I have a fortnight booked off work, it’s my first break since March and I can’t wait. This year seems mad busy, one thing after another, shed load of work, real life and personal stuff. There have been a couple of weddings, a hen weekend and a forthcoming christening – all good fun, but when you travel for work during the week and are away at weekends, it sometimes feels like you’re on a conveyor belt – at least it does for me. So I can’t wait to get some time away. In March I spent a week cross-country skiing in Italy and was on a total high when I got back – you can read about it here.

So in theory the biggest challenge should be identifying what to do or where to go on holiday. Except life is never that simple. My current dilemma is what to do about travel insurance.

My Dad has a terminal cancer diagnosis, his health can change at any moment, he is currently fine having recovered from his latest infection, but I’m not sure what he’ll be like in a month’s time. So before I splash out on an exotic, far away, expensive holiday (and for once, yes, that is the type I’m hoping for) I need to get travel insurance – except Dad’s condition is pre-existing, I know he is terminally ill, so no policy I’ve yet found will cover me! I’m not so worried about coming back if Dad’s health were to deteriorate while I’m away –  my Dad is a pragmatist and he’d want me to have a holiday, blissfully unaware (I think) and I definitely feel like I need one. That said, if his health were to go downhill in the next four weeks I don’t think I could leave!

So I’m looking for an insurance policy that covers me to cancel up to the last minute – even though I know that it’s a possibility. I’m prepared to have to pay an extra premium for that (although in theory I shouldn’t need to – isn’t that the point of insurance) but as yet I can’t find any policy that matches it. I had a look on Macmillan’s site and instead found their Travel Insurance campaign – seemingly years after having had cancer, people are still discriminated against in travel insurance circles.

I’d really appreciate any ideas for where I can get a policy that might cover me. I’ve even gone with a totally awful blog post title in the hope that some real life insurance person might spot it – I’m hoping someone has an idea, rather than I just get inundated with spambot followers but we’ll see. What do you recommend oh wise ones?