UPON returning from a three-week holiday that took me from London to Paris and then to North-West Wales, Northern Spirit Railways has apparently decided to throw me a 'welcome back to England' party.

The festivities kick off at approximately 8:50 on a Thursday morning as the 8:38 Metro train to Ilkely finally departs Leeds station (I'll let you do the maths). So far the delay has been nothing out of the ordinary, and, as they are quite used to it by now, I doubt any of my British counterparts are planning to text message home about it. However, the best is yet to come.

As the train begins its journey towards Wharfedale, I can't help but temporarily remove my nose from the confines of my newspaper to notice that from the sounds of it, the engine seems to be struggling a bit. Being the optimistic, or perhaps nave, American that I am however, I shrug it off as nothing and return to my early morning cram session.

Suddenly the train comes to a screeching halt, but neither myself nor my fellow commuters are too

het up about it, as it is quite normal for British trains to stop in the middle of nowhere for no apparent reason. When the sound of the struggling engine completely dies out, however, I begin to get a bit worried.

The engine is restarted, and proceeds to push the train a few feet closer to its destination before coming to another screeching halt. The engineer, who had apparently taken the instructions 'rinse and repeat' on the back of his shampoo bottle a bit too seriously, then continued to induce this same sequence of events over and over again for the next 20 minutes.

As I glance around me I notice that the British

occupants of the train aren't distressed by the situation. In fact, they seem quite amused. I soon find that I myself can't help from laughing out loud as the forsaken train putters up the track inch by inch like the little engine that could.

But it couldn't, and the determined train crew (bless their hearts) finally gives up after a few failed attempts to make on-the-spot repairs. It then surrenders to the fact that they must call another train to push them out of the way.

We are told that it will take approximately 20

minutes for the rescue train to couple up to the original train and push us to Shipley, but to nobody's surprise it takes much longer. For the former is apparently no better equipped to handle the situation then the latter, and it seems we are doomed to proceed on to Shipley one inch at a time.

When we finally arrive in Shipley we are - after much initial confusion on behalf of the Northern Spirit staff -- informed that we will be receiving a 'special' bus

service to Ilkely.

Boy was it special. So special in fact that bus driver decided to take us on a scenic tour of the lower Wharfedale area, turning the would-be mundane

commute into a joyride consisting of several wrong turns and numerous reversals into car parks.

Luckily the driver has opted to soothe our nerves with the sounds of The Who, BB King, and U2 via the bus radio. Though the hour of high noon is fast approaching, at this point I guess it's safe to say that I've gott my £2.50 worth.

Through some apparent act of God we manage to make it to the Guiseley and Menston stations. And low and behold, as we approach Menston we notice a train that is not only boasting the destination 'Ilkely' in

digital lights, but is also actually moving.

With reckless abandon we all rush to get off the bus and on to the station platform, for if the train leaves without us it will take with it not only all our hopes of getting to work in time for lunch, but also all

possibility of maintaining our sanity. It is now nearly 11.30am, and we arrive safely at our final destination at approximately 11.45am.

While the 'up at 7am, in work by noon' scenario (which would perhaps be more acceptable if one was commuting from Leeds to London) is not exactly a daily occurrence for Leeds-Bradford area commuters it is safe to say that the state of the railway system in the UK is nothing short of bizarre.

Some of my favourites include:

Anonymous trains - This phenomenon is primarily the result of two things. One is the fact that train crews rarely bother to change the destination signs on the front of the trains in time for them to be of much

benefit to anybody.

The second factor is that along each given platform there are three different places at which different trains are meant to depart from (ie platform 1A, 1B, and 1C). The problem is that the trains don't always pull up to the portion of the platform that they were intended to. This leaves commuters to wander up and down the platforms asking each other if they know which train is which, in the hopes of eventually

meeting some enlightened, all-knowing soul.

In the end it causes everyone, especially myself, to have horrible bouts of paranoia and self-doubt, which is an absolutely smashing way to start the day.

Musical platforms - This almost daily occurrence at Leeds station takes place when the platform that a particular train is due to arrive on is altered mere minutes before its scheduled time of departure. Sometimes there is an announcement informing you of this and sometimes there isn't.

Invisible trains - At 8:27am the loudspeaker

suddenly crackles and declares that 'the 8:28 Metro train service to Leeds has been cancelled. No

explanation or justification is required. Apparently, sometimes the rail companies just can't be bothered to run all of their trains.

All-weather track - Something Railtrack apparently doesn't bother to install here in England, where

weather, for tradition's sake, is supposed to be

miserable. On the rare occasion of a heatwave, the track buckles, causing nearly all train service to and from Leeds to be cancelled. And you know what that means.... yes it's the special bus service.

But here's a hint from the son of an American

railroad conductor and the grandson of an American track-man - you're supposed to leave a space between the rail to allow room for heat induced expansion and contraction.

Request stops - Unlike the ones that preceded it, I can not take credit for coining this term, as it is official railroad terminology in Northern Wales.

Here, in the former stomping ground of the Princes of Gwynedd, you actually have to stick out your hand and flag down the train as it approaches the platform. I could see thumbing for a taxi, or maybe even a bus, but a train? You can't be serious.

Clown carriages - Though there are many variables when it comes to trying to decipher the madness that is the British railway system, one thing is always certain.

On local commuter lines, there will never be more than two carriages per train, regardless of what time of day it is. This means that during rush hour, large groups of commuters regularly have to defy the very laws of physics in order to fit on their train.

I once had a female member of the train crew grab me by the rucksack and literally shove me into a train -- that was already filled way beyond capacity - like a sardine, before doing the same with another ten people behind me. While I now know how all those clowns at the Ringling Brothers' circus fit into those tiny cars, I can't help but wonder who the fool really is.

Perhaps it is those who supported Margaret Thatcher and her privatisation of British Rail - an

ingenious scheme in which she sold to the British public something which they technically already owned via their tax money (sometimes I'm surprised that she didn't try to sell them pavements).

The real irony however, is the fact that that most of Railtrack's income still comes from the public's taxes despite the fact that it hasn't been publicly owned for years.

But all of this money is still not enough to prevent all of the chaotic (though sometimes humorous) delays that commuters must suffer through on a daily basis.

Far more serious, however, is the suffering endured by the families who have lost loved ones to inexcusable accidents such as the Hatfield crash.

The recent discovery that Railtrack knew about the problems with the Hatfield tracks as long ago as 1998 reveals a situation driven by the worst kind of corporate negligence, comparable to that of the 1970s US case in which Ford Motor Corporation denied

knowing that the Pinto's petrol tank would explode upon rear impact.

In theory, the purpose of Government is to represent the public, and thus look out for their best interests. (indeed, it is intended to be the next best thing to the public looking out for itself.) In order for it to do this, the public provides the Government with funding via taxes. If anything then goes wrong, the public holds the Government accountable.

But in the case of the British railway system, this chain of accountability has become far too removed to be effective. The public provides the Government with tax, which then funds and regulates Railtrack (along with 100-plus different private rail operators throughout the UK). This then subcontracts its work to other private companies.

The current plan of the Government -- which insists re-privatisation is more trouble then it's worth --to provide Railtrack with yet more money (£1.5bn to be exact) in exchange for tougher regulation and a pledge to not pay any exceptional dividends to shareholders is better then nothing.

For the most part however, it seems to be yet another example of corporate-minded politicians seeking quick fixes instead of long-term solutions.