Take the Train? It's a Strain!

A couple of weeks ago I went to Bristol for a few days. A combination of circumstances persuaded me that the sensible option was to 'let the train take the strain', as they used to say, something I haven't done much in recent years.
The day before I was due to leave I gave my first thoughts to luggage. I'd planned more or less what I was going to take for a four-day wardrobe, but not considered what I was going to put it in. Small weekend bag? No, too small. Giant suitcase with wheels? No, too big and unwieldy. Normal suitcase? Yes, that will do. But no, it won't. I can't carry things any more. I can and do lift weights for pleasure and exercise, but carrying anything more than a handbag and walking at the same time just isn't possible. What I needed was one of those dinky suitcases on tiny wheels with a retractable handle, specifically designed for trains and planes. Haven't got one, no time to get one... Inspiration! Under a pile of boxes, blankets and life jackets right at the back of the box room there's a shopping trolley. It's got wheels and a handle - use that. It hasn't seen the light of day since a boating trip to Holland four years ago, but I know it's there. Got it out, gave it a dust, put my clothes in, then realised that its only method of closure is a little strip of velcro. More inspiration! The medium size suitcase slides into the shopping trolley a treat. Problem solved. Hurray! Good night.
In the morning Ron took me to catch the train at our local station, which is small and unmanned. I had a reserved seat on the Penzance-London train in a coach which was way beyond the platform, so Ron hoisted the trolley up into the train for me and I made my way back three coaches, pushing the trolley and carrying handbag and laptop case. This was my first problem - there were lots of obstacles, people and things, in my way, some of whom I may have injured quite severely. I just kept my head down and muttered a nonstop litany; 'Sorry, excuse me, sorry...'
When I found my seat I discovered that the trolley, with its big, easy push wheels and non-retractable handle, wouldn't fit properly in the luggage bay. All the way to Bristol I could hear people muttering gently to themselves as they tripped over it or tried to get their own luggage in or out of the small space available. I kept my head down and pretended it was nothing to do with me...
Bristol is a big city, with a big railway station. Getting off the train was easy - I was in the way so someone lifted the monster trolley down for me - but finding my way out was more difficult. Down in a lift to Subway, round a few corners, up in another lift to Way Out. Now which way? I'd looked on a map, my destination was only a ten minute walk away with no hills, I needed the exercise. But which direction to go in? Not a single useful map anywhere on the station concourse. The main station entrance opens out on to an enormous square and I could have wandered round there for a long time if I went in the wrong direction. I think it was the sixth or seventh person I asked who was able to show me which direction to walk, and off we went, the monster trolley and I. I didn't get lost, in fact it was quite a pleasant walk, and halfway there a young lady asked 'me' for directions!
I had a pleasant, if tiring, few days and then it was time to reverse the process. Walking to the station - fine. Operating the prepaid ticket dispensing machine - OK, although I paused to read the instructions first, causing a young lady to ask if I was going to use it, or not? You go first, I said, I'll watch what you do...
Through the barriers, down to Subway, round in circles, up to Platform 8 - and the train was delayed. Kirkcaldy to Plymouth, this one, and about a twenty minute delay. Which would mean I'd miss my connection. Still, never mind. The delay meant I had time to talk to a couple of seasoned travellers, one of whom indicated exactly where I should stand to be by the door of my coach when it arrived (he was right) and told me I'd not be able to use my dongle (he was wrong - perhaps there's too much interference up the front in first class, but I was OK). So there I was at the door of the coach and there was absolutely no way I could lift that monster thing up three feet and across two to get it on the train. No way at all. A young girl finally came to my rescue, I parked it half in half out of the overflowing luggage space and we were off.
By the time we got to Plymouth I'd downloaded and read a couple of hundred emails and dozed a bit. We'd also caught up about ten minutes so were only about ten minutes late. A porter was hovering, lifted the monster down for me and pointed out the little stopping train I needed on the other platform. Lift, Subway, lift, platform. A train like a bus, almost flat to the platform - I managed to get myself and my luggage on to it all by myself! It departed immediately, some six minutes behind schedule. I do believe it had been waiting just for me! Which was nice... and so home. I hadn't realised that trains did request stops, but there are three, apparently, in the 25 mile trajectory between Plymouth and the terminus at Liskeard. I even managed to get off the train on my own, as well, and the man and the dog carried me the rest of the way home...
I'll not be doing it again, though. However much better for the environment it may be to use public transport, until I can afford a personal minion to carry stuff for me I'll be sticking to the car, I'm afraid.