Training in the art of patience.

The perils of public transport, or a lack thereof. Last night, I wanted to get to Mill Hill; seemingly, the more urgent it became, the less TFL (the organisation responsible for Transparently Failing London) cared.

Cricklewood, seven o'clock, minus the http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6nvKN_H4e-I melodrama. Stood on the platform, I waited well over an hour for my Luton-bound train. At first, delays were explained by a 'shortage of supply chains', no doubt a piece of meaningless jargon designed to placate soon-to-be angry passengers. It does raise the question, though: what, exactly are they supplying the trains with? Is there a war - one that I know nothing about - being waged as I write this? (If warfare is to be fought this way in future, it might not be such a bad thing). Either way, I am envisioning mid-station refuelling of the type undergone by over-priced transatlantic fighter craft, soon to be scrapped by the government, of course. Before long, excuses had morphed into the equally-tedious, 'a train has broken down on the line'. Now don't get me wrong: both of those excuses, taken together, are possible, notwithstanding their sheer dullness. They are the TFL equivalent of 'sorry sir, but my dog ate it'. If excuses were rated according to creativity, or some other less addled and wearisome metric (and believe me, that shouldn't be too hard), then perhaps passengers would more readily cut train operators some slack. After all, we're only human...robots.

But it didn't end there. I mentioned that I waited for an hour. What I omitted was that the train never came. 15 minutes from every ETA, TFL would proffer another predictably jargonised excuse, delaying the train by another 10 minutes. Eventually, after an hour of this tantalising game, just when I was about to give up hope, they dashed it for me: the train was cancelled. So I walked towards West Hampstead, seeking an express train along the same line. Alas, this was also cancelled.

Plan C involved ditching trains and turning to those bastions of reliability, buses. I caught one towards Golders Green. Sadly, this method was also doomed because, at the first set of make-shift traffic lights, two buses entered head on and were soon stuck. Rather than wait for some painful siamese-style extrication, I walked the rest. The tube to collindale, followed by another bus and a short sprint ended an eventful, if stressful, journey to somewhere, with hindsight, I wished I hadn't gone.

For once, I cannot blame this on the failings of politicians. Humans must, sometimes, be afforded margin for error. In fact, we, the public would benefit from a more patient demeanour. It could cure the chronic short-termism that cripples political judgement; it could lend politicians more scope and opportunity to prove their worth, rather than turfing them out after a single slip-up; it could help us to watch public policy borne out instead of screeching at the sound of reform or cuts. Patience, in short, is a virtue. Get it now.