“Roll up, roll up and welcome aboard the ScotRail Sardine Express to Glasgow Queen Street.
“Don’t worry, madam, there’s plenty of room under the tables if you can just squeeze your bum under. Sir, can you lift your legs up and lie right down across the luggage rack please.”
In a week when Glasgow becomes the sporting Mecca for the Commonwealth, when the city is in the media spotlight and thousands upon thousands of visitors descend on the city, who do we have as frontrunner in the one sided race to make a pig’s ear of it all?
Official supporters of the Games SCOTRAIL!
From no conductors to cancelled journeys, overstuffed carriages and substandard service, they have managed to achieve the impossible becoming even more unreliable and embarrassing. If there were gold medals for being a complete numpty then Scotrail would have a trophy cabinet stuffed full of them.
On Tuesday rush hour, in temperatures that would have camels going on strike, hundreds of harassed passengers and football fans bound for Edinburgh queued round Queen Street because Celtic were playing at Murrayfield that night.
Were there any extra carriages provided? No!
How about Thursday, the first official day of the games? Only three carriages for the packed 10am Edinburgh to Glasgow train. It was embarrassing!
The excited foreigners joining at Linlithgow, Polmont or Falkirk were in complete squashed shock. I didn’t know where to look I was so ashamed. What a way to treat your guests.
Even as I write this I hear they penalise blind people on their sleeper service by making them pay for a whole cabin if they have a guide dog. Disgraceful!
With the benefit of hindsight, should we not have blown up The Red Road Flats as part of the opening ceremony but only on the condition that the fat controllers from ScotRail were locked inside?
At least the opening ceremony did us proud.
Okay, there was the cheesy start with John Barrowman and Karen Dunbar. That was so bad I thought The Krankies were about to make an appearance!
John did, though, in front of an estimated TV audience of 1 billion, bravely redefine the meaning of a Glasgow Kiss!
Then there was our version of Crufts, with each team being led out by a wee Scotty dug. I thought that would be ruff but it was actually grrreat!
And the surprise of the ceremony was finding out we had two dinosaurs appearing Nessie and Rod Stewart!
From Tunnocks Teacake Hats to Irn Bru, from yapping Scotties to struggling SuBo, From delightful Amy to wrinkly Rod, from enthused volunteers to amazed athletes, the ceremony was a stunning visual, audio and technological feast, cut with large swathes of cheese and humour and a positive advert for Scotland, Glasgow and its people.
It was to use that much maligned Weegie slogan “Pure Dead Brilliant”!
Now what? Will all the hassle over ticket booking, road closures, diversions, demolitions, building works, OTT security and the installation of bus lanes and unused games lanes prove to have been worth it?
Will the estimated £472 million spend be justified or will the legacy of these games be one of unfulfilled dreams, half empty stadia and a huge waste of public cash?
Not a chance. Glasgow will flourish long after the games have become a distant memory and it will hopefully prove to be money well spent.
Of course, that’s as long as ScotRail aren’t involved!
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