Last night I got off the train at West Bumble and got on my bike. I take my bike on the train. It's about five yards to the station exit and car park and usually the damn place is deserted. This time, however, there was a mob of South West Trains Gate Nazis in attendance.
By Gate Nazis I'm not referring to the standard ticket inspectors who are generally OK, but chumps dressed up to look
quite a lot like police officers, complete with hi-viz jackets and a surly air of aggressive self-importance presumably born out of the fact that they're weren't good enough to get into the police and now want to take it all out on you.
Anyway, I showed them my ticket and was then
apprehended by a plain-clothes Gate Nazi, who announced he was going to 'yellow card' me for riding on the platform, a process that requires taking and confirming your name and address so they can 'red card' you next time.
Now, you and I both know that I shouldn't have been riding my bike on the platform, but you and I also know that for the two or three seconds I was actually on my bike, I represented a danger to no-one and that the appropriate response would have been for them to simply
advise me that it wasn't sensible and send me on my way.
But no. These are Gate Nazis. They are not programmed to be reasonable.
I objected. They threatened me with a fine. At which point I went into full-bore smart-arse mode. It's not big, or clever, but it is guaranteed to get the back up of even the most calm and patient individual. I reckon that on a good day I could have had Mother Teresa swinging for me. By the end of it, the female Gate Nazi was yelling in my face about £80 on-the-spot fines that she has no authority to administer, and the gang of scrotes who'd been collared for fare dodging had gone into full revolt. Fun.
I'd also got the plain-clothes Gate Nazi on the run, cornered on the question of how many people are killed every year toppling from their bicycles onto train tracks. He had asserted that it was 'loads', so I asked him how many. He said that he definitely knew the answer, but wasn't going to tell me. So I suggested he had no idea and that he was undermining his own credibility by claiming that he did.
To cut a long story short, he lost his temper too. I left this merry scene after about 20 minutes of sparring, with the scrotes in full revolt and the Gate Nazis in disarray. Childish, I know, but they had exhibited exactly that combination of ignorance, aggression, unreasonableness and misplaced self-regard that I reckon should be dragged out the back and given a fucking good metaphorical kicking wherever it is found.
So how many people a year do actually die from falling off their bicycles onto train tracks? According to the Railway Safety Statistical Report , there is no single instance of
anyone having been killed in this way for any of the years on record.