Susan Morrison: Waverley has a big problem - location, location, location
Off to Lower Largo last weekend. Thought I’d take the train to Leven. Left the house in plenty of time, I thought, for the journey from Leith to the heart of the city.
Schoolgirl error. It was a Saturday, so naturally, there were road works, diversions and Dirty Dancing on at the Playhouse.
We finally made it to the bus stop at Leith Street. I had exactly 11 minutes to get a ticket and get that train.
Yes, I freely admit, I should have done the modern thing and bought the ticket on my phone, but hey, I’m an old fashioned girl and I like my ticket physical. What if my clever phone gets hacked by a bunch of pimply youths working out of a Russian cyberhacking factory, eh?
Others may be left staring at blank screens, but I shall always sail serenely through, waving in my hand a piece of paper that promises if not peace in our time, then at least a seat on a train. Well, get on a train, at any rate.
I tore along Calton Road, up the stairs and did the whole ‘Jason Bourne chasing a bad guy’ thing through the station.
And believe me, getting through Waverley fast requires seriously nimble footwork. It felt like the whole world had decided to hit the station, just to walk incredibly slowly, preferably while dragging enormous wheeled cases, eyes glued to screens for directions.
Special mention must go to those very pretty girls who stop and film themselves batting their monster false eyelashes for their Insta feed. Where, I thought, are those blasted Moscow keyboard cyber warriors when you need them? Probably off mucking up the French supermarket chill cabinets instead of doing something useful like bricking pouting influencers’ smartphones
There just isn’t room at Waverley to be standing about influencing. Heck, there’s barely enough room to get through. One disturbance in the flow and the whole place clogs faster than a Scottish artery.
All it takes is one hesitant tourist at the top of the escalator to the main concourse to cause a log jam clear up to the taxi rank, wherever it happens to be at the time. Blameless young mums with buggies can cause minor mayhem and woe betide the less fleet of foot.
Waverley has a problem so big we have to say it three times. Location, location, location. It might be handy for the castle and John Lewis, but it's wedged in between the Old and the New Towns. Space to expand it does not have.
You can’t really blame the original builders, but Waverley is probably in the worst position you could put a 21st century railway station.
Imagine a modern planning committee confronted by a proposal to squeeze a Waverley-scaled transport hub into that wee space. They’d have to go and have a lie down. The Cockburn Association would have a fit.
Neither could the Victorians have imagined the sheer number of people going through the station today. Or how annoying they could be.
Plans are afoot to re-jig again, but perhaps in the meantime Network Rail could start making announcements to keep the traffic flowing, you know, like the ones telling us not to feed the pigeons.
If they need a voice-over to tell people to stop posin’ like haddies and keep moving, I’m available.