Day train to Sydney

Our train is at 8:30, so we need to be up early. Andrew has set an alarm for 7. But I get up at 6:45.

"Are you going down for breakfast, Andrew?"

"No."

That’s clear enough.

I'm not going to miss out. It's pretty quiet in the breakfast room. As it’s fucking early. I get my usual scrambled egg and bacon. And eat it quite quickly. Then wolf down some fruit. For health’s sake.

Andrew is still in bed when I return to the room. Though he does soon get up. He doesn't look very lively. He never does before noon.

“I’m not a morning person.” He always says. He’s not much of an early afternoon person, either.

We get to the station at 8:10. 20 minutes before the train is due to depart. There are quite a lot of people hanging around. Which I suppose is to be expected. There are only two trains to Sydney each day. One overnight and one during the day.

We leave 10 minutes late. Our carriage is almost full. And we're in first class. It's sunny as we leave Melbourne. Behind us, a group of Lions fans chat with a local about rugby.

We're pretty much surrounded by Lions fans. Many middle-aged or pensioners. But some younger ones, too.

"Look, Andrew, there's one of those bouncy things."

“Talk properly, Dad.”

“Well, I’m not sure exactly what it is. Kangaroo, wallaby or something else.”

“Just say kangaroo.”

“Even when that might not be accurate/”

“Yes. Just don’t piss around.”

“You’re usually such a pedant.”

“Fuck off, Dad.”

It’s a surprise to see whatever it is. As we're not that far outside Melbourne and it's still quite built up. Don't think it was a kangaroo. Not big enough. More likely a wallaby.

As we approach New South Wales, it gets rather foggy. And the fields are all rather soggy. It looks rather like England or Holland. Except with more exotic wildlife.

"Do you want anything from the bar, Dad?" 

"Get me a couple of miniatures. If they don't have that, get me a cup of tea."

Andrew returns with a can of Great Northern mid-strength and a tea.

"There's nothing stronger than 3.5% ABV. Other than wine. Should I get you a wine next time?"

"Yes, please."

“The highest alcohol drink they have?”

“Coincidentally. I just really feel like a red wine.”

“You’re fooling no-one, Dad.”

“Other than myself.”

“That’s not a victory.”

“It is to me.”

Extracting the tea bag is fun. The train is rattling around quite a bit. I was intending to wait until the next stop. That's taking a while, so I risk it when the train is going a bit slower. And manage not to scald myself.

Staff come around taking hot lunch orders. There are 5 options most $13.50. Which sounds very reasonable. Spaghetti Bolognese is only $9.95. I don't need one, as we brought sandwiches. And beer, but we're not allowed to drink that. As an announcement made very clear:

"If you're caught drinking your own alcohol, you'll be fined and removed from the train."

No pissing around, then.

Andrew comes back with a couple of cans and a red wine. Wine in a Glass, it's called.

"It's a bit like one-cup sake, Andrew."

“Except you can reseal this.”

“True. But why bother? It’s only two mouthfuls.”

“For you. You pisshead.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t get me started.”

In New South Wales, it becomes much hillier. And less inhabited. Except for sheep and cattle, which dot the hills. Along with the occasional bunch of kangaroos, which stand and look balefully at the train. Or bounce slowly away. Skinny streams cut viciously and deeply into the swathe. Patches of pale rock erupt.

Mobile reception is very patchy. Well, crap, really. It’s only really present in the stations. Virtually as soon as the train pulls away from the platform, it disappears.

Andrew brings a steady stream of red wine and beer. Which keeps us hydrated and entertained.

I spend some time trying to snap a bouncy thing. But I'm always too slow and the train too fast. When I’m finally quick enough, all I get is a grey smudge.

They announce that the train is running 20 minutes late, but they'll try to make it up. I'm not holding my breath.

The sky turns an angry grey. Then it starts pissing it down. I'm glad we're inside in the dry.

"The smoke alarm has gone off in the toilet in carriage G. Someone was smoking in there, which is illegal and dangerous. Anyone caught smoking will be removed from the train by police. If you know who was smoking, please inform a member of staff."

They really don't piss around.

Andrew returns from the buffet with a white wine and a pre-mix cocktail. 

“They've run out of beer and red wine, Dad.”

“Damn. I suppose white wine will have to do.”

“The pre-mix cocktail is only 3.5% ABV, too”.

"Mid-strength is Australian for piss-weak." I quip.

“You’re so witty, Dad.” Andrew doesn’t say. But I can see he’s thinking it. He’s definitely thinking something.

“I blame those Lions fans. Pisshead pensioners.”

“Like you? Or are you just an enthusiastic mature drinker?”

“Fuck off.”

After it gets dark outside, I start to doze. As it becomes more populated, we whizz through brightly-lit stations. Until we hit the lights of the first Sydney suburbs.

When we pull into Sydney Central, we're 45 minutes late. So much for making up time.

After a short taxi ride, we pull up at our hotel. Checked in, we pop over to the Woollies opposite for some more food and drink. Then to the bottle shop next door for beer for Andrew.

After more than 12 hours on the train, I'm feeling knacked. We watch some YouTube, then I turn in. Andrew stays up later. As he always does.