Don't ever think, ever think, ever think too much

I got back from my adventuring in Brighton yesterday night, after the most hellish journey ever.

I got to Kings Cross after an adequate train journey from Three Bridges (not even a place, just three bridges and a train station apparently) and a bus ride to there - trains don't run out of Brighton on a Sunday. Being a Londoner I literally could not understand this concept. - during which I got hailstones in my eye and ear.

Then the big screen said the two words I did not want to see next to each other; "Hull" and "Cancelled". I sighed. I plugged in my headphones. I drowned it all out to the dulcet tones of Michael Stipe.
When I came back into the real world I learned that I was meant to get on the 19.30 train to Leeds and change there, with everyone else who was meant to catch my train. Along with all the people who were on the train anyway, going to Leeds.
Now is it just me, or are trains really not designed to hold double the people they're meant to? What we were essentially dealing with was double the passengers on one train.
Which just ended up being physically painful. There was a minor stampede when the platform was announced, which I got knocked down and trampled on in. I love prepositions. But that was nowhere near as exciting as the journey down.

Usually from my house to the train station takes about 20 minutes. I wanted to be on the safe side, so I wanted to give it 35. My train was at 2, I was at the bus stop at 1.30, having rushed from my seminar, bumped in to a friend of mine who told me someone had tried to break into her window when she was asleep. As a result of this I spent an extra 5 minutes evaluating the worth of everything in my room and locking stuff up in my housemates' rooms. I'm on the bottom floor you see, as is the friend in question.
Anyway as a result I was at this bus stop at half one, still making decent time, there was a bus at 33 minutes past, then 35, then 38, then 42, you get the idea. My house is just off a big main road so buses are frequent. So I'd get on the next bus and be at the station at roughly ten to 2. ("What a well-thought-out plan!" Chris would relate to me when I told him over the phone later, "I certainly can't conceive of anything going wrong. Do continue.")
So I waited patiently.
Then not-so-patiently.
Then not patiently at all.
Five minutes had passed. Then ten. Then I had that horrible sinking twisting feeling in your stomach when you know exactly what you need and that you can do absolutely nothing to get it. My only option was to stand there, block out the passage of time with my mp3 player (Radiohead, if you were wondering) and will and will the bus to come. I didn't even have any spare money to get a taxi, I'd spent the last of it on my ticket.
I got to the station, agonisingly, at 2.04. I went over to the desk and explained that I'd been messed around by buses and had missed my train,and were there any trains that would get me to Doncaster in time for 3.15 for my connection to Kings Cross? I may have spoken a tad quickly.
"Can I see your ticket?" He said.
Yes...
"This ticket's only valid for the 3.15 from Doncaster to Kings Cross," He said. Then "You've just missed this train." He looked at me as if he'd told me something I didn't already know. I stared at him.
"I could do you a single ticket to Brighton for today...." He looked at me slightly accusingly, as if it were a huge bother. I reached for my purse.
"How much?"
"For today, that'll be £61. With your student discount."
I put my purse back in my bag.
"Can I get a refund for this ticket?"
"No."
I wanted to find a picture of Chris, show him the man whose heart he was breaking, but I didn't have one. Instead I trudged back over to the screen and looked at the departures. There was another train to Doncaster leaving in a few seconds time, arriving at 3.30 if the man behind the desk was to be trusted. I thought to myself, If my connection train is delayed by 15 minutes I can still - just - make it! So I half-strode, half-jogged toward the platform, thinking There is no WAY this is a bad idea.
I'd been on the train almost an hour when my brain caught up with whatever impulse spurred me to do this. I was on my way to a city I didn't know to catch a train I should not logically expect to be there, if it had all gone to plan and the Kings Cross train was on time or had been delayed by anything less than 15 minutes exactly, I would be stranded in Doncaster, with no money, no food and no ticket home.
I tried not to think about this as the journey wore on. I would cross that bridge should I come to it, I decided.
As I got off the train at Doncaster there was a train on the opposite platform. I grabbed a man with a navy blue hat having only seen him from the corner of my eye. To this moment I don't know whether he was an employee or had just picked the wrong day to wear a navy blue hat.
"Which train is that?" I demanded of him.
"Kings Cross one. Got delayed."
Those five words were the most beautiful I'd ever heard. I wanted to hug him. Instead I thanked him with a squeeze of his arm (which I had already established somewhat of a grip on) and dashed for the doors. A whistle was blowing.
If nothing else, the bruises on my chest as the automatic doors closed are testimony to the fact I got to Brighton on time. And I went on to have a very good weekend indeed.