Susan Buckland: Stranded groom derailed

COMMENT

Things started smoothly enough. The train pulled promptly out of Sydney's Circular Quay station to take me to the airport. For about $12 and 15 minutes' travel time this was surely the way to go.

A taxi would have cost twice as much and, depending on the traffic, probably taken longer. And my first and only other experience of the airport train had been seamless.

As the train pulled out I felt pleased I would arrive 30 minutes early, a stress-free change to my frantic, last-minute dashes to airports.

But the prospect of arriving with time to spare was suddenly thrown into doubt. Halfway between the city and airport the train ground to a halt. It didn't occur at first that anything was amiss. At any minute I expected the train to jerk into motion again.

Five minutes went by before a voice crackled over the loud speaker system. "The train has lost its power. We apologise, ladies and gentlemen, and hope to be off again as soon as possible."

The smooth start to the journey was starting to feel lumpy. Then the door to my carriage crashed open and through it exploded a man in his mid-20s. He wore a cream suit and loud tie over a cerise shirt, similar in colour to his agitated face.

Hurling himself down the aisle he swore profusely in Turkish and threw in English profanities for good measure.

On his heels came a friend, trying to persuade his apoplectic mate that he should not jump off the stationary train because he (a) risked being bowled by a passing train and (b) would be fined more than $2000 - providing he survived the jump.

The furious friend turned his blazing eyes on me, the only passenger in the carriage. "I'm trying to get to my wedding, would you believe!" he fumed in heavily accented but colloquial English. "Now what? My bride-to-be, you theenk she gonna be happy about thees?"

Leaving his friend and me to ponder the calamitous consequences of not turning up for his nuptials he stormed into the next compartment, where he proceeded to vent his spleen on an elderly woman in a pink knitted suit and hat to match.

The only other passenger in her carriage was a man of Asian origin who, strategically, had assumed an inscrutable expression.

The elderly woman, however, entered the would-be groom's plight with gusto. They soon shifted their wrath from the disempowered train and on to Bob Carr, the NSW Premier, who they blamed directly for the train's predicament.

Together they resolved to disempower the premier at the next state elections.

"So much has changed for the worse," said the elderly woman. "It's not just the trains. We don't get enough rain in NSW these days. There have been water restrictions for more than a year."

Time, meanwhile, was running out for getting my flight. Flustered engineers in orange dungarees were rushing from one end of the carriage to the other. Then, finally, the train cranked into motion and limped into the next station.

"Sorry ladies and gentleman, this train will not be proceeding to the airport," crackled the loudspeaker voice. "Please disembark and take the next train which will arrive in 10 minutes."

Ten minutes I no longer could afford. I would have to revert to a frantic airport dash in a taxi.

"Any chance of a fare refund?" I asked a man in orange overalls. "Sorry, madam, I don't have the authority."

"You're on your own," said the Turkish groom. "Bloody lovely, isn't it? Yeah, Bob Carr, your days are numbered."

And tightening his lavish tie with unmistakable purpose, he marched off with his best man to take the next train to his wedding.