I Would Recall The Call Centres in India

I'm just calming down from having bought a ticket. It took me half an hour. Twice I gave up in disgust and said I'd drive; the third time I just bought it, at just about double the price advertised on the internet.

I don't mind these call centres in principle but in practice the Indian ones transform me in seconds into a ranting racist git.

I want to speak in my usual cynical drawl to someone who knows the branch line from my place to Reading, who knows the cheaper, other line up to London; who knows what time before the rush hour I have to hot foot it out of London before I get done for a massive hike in fare; or who knows the first train I can get onto after the bloody rush hour; who knows where the cheapest parking is when the station carpark is full (which it always is after 9.30 am anyway -- and, besides, I need to remortgage every time I park there).

In short, I want to talk to someone at MY station about MY journey, preferably someone like the station master in The Railway Children. When these little old ladies in India start bleeping away like Peter Sellers I just want to scream.