The Three Most Terrifying Words in the English Language

I'm fairly relieved that I don't have to travel to Cardiff any more, especially when I see my friends' Facebook updates about the joys of their daily commute. I often allow myself a quiet chuckle as I read their tales of delays, cancellations, and imaginative excuses dreamt up by Arriva Trains Wales. Then, every so often, I hear something which knocks their regular battles with into a cocked hat.

I have a mate who occasionally works at an office in Trefforest Industrial Estate. Getting there on a normal weekday is never easy, as the trains from Aberdare don't stop there. Instead, he has to travel to Abercynon or Pontypridd and change onto the train from Merthyr. On the return trip, he has to change from the Merthyr train to the Aberdare train. It must be frustrating at best and extremely annoying at worst.

His commute is even worse on a Sunday, with trains from Aberdare running every two hours and not meshing neatly with the services from Merthyr. I don't envy him at all! I only ever worked one Sunday in Cardiff. That day, I caught the bus and accidentally took the legendary magical mystery tour which I told you about in Nice Work If You Can Get There. After that, I swore that I'd never venture onto a Sunday bus to or from Cardiff again in my life. Some of us, however, don't have that luxury.

I had a text from my mate just over an hour ago, and it sounds as though he was embarking on a magical mystery tour of his own. Entirely without his permission, I'll quote it in full:

No trains today. Replacement bus service mainly supplied by Cardiff Bus. A combination of drivers who've never been north of Radyr and roadworks in Ponty[pridd] meant we were nearly on our way to Ynysybwl just now. Not sure what the locals thought of the bus with RAIL on it. 50 years too late probably. We seem to be heading to Quakers Yard now!

I've no idea what time he got back to Aberdare – although, having said that, I haven't heard from him since. I suppose there's a good chance that he's still on the bus, somewhere north of Pontypridd and hoping for the best.

I once had to ride shotgun to Aberdare with a Shambles Shamrock driver who'd been called in from the Barry depot. The poor bugger was in terra incognita once he left Pontypridd, and he asked me to sit up front for 'route familiarisation' when he learned that I knew the area well. It's a story which I've told several people over the years; now it sounds as though my mate is reliving that exciting adventure for himself.

I've always said that there are only three three-letter phrases which strike terror into my heart: 'Party political broadcast'; 'Replacement bus service'; and 'Last orders, please!' If he's lucky, my mate might arrive back in Aberdare just in time to hear the third one.