First Great Waste!

Ok, a moment here to reflect on the perils of our nation's policy of privatisation. When it all properly began, under the leadership of Queen Maggie (who probably would've also swatted a fly on live tv!), I think I was a bit too young to understand the implications for our future. Too many people believed it would be an improvement, create better services and more jobs and the majority ruled. Or the minority. I don't have the figures and it doesn't much matter now.
Although there is an OF for all of these sectors, as in OFCOM, OFSTED etc, who is there to monitor their monitoring capabilities? I suspect that somewhere close to central government, there's a room full of suits, sitting around a table being conducted by some whiskey-drenched King Arthur figure, just making it up as they go along...
As Monty Python famously once said, I wish to register a complaint.
Five days of doing very little in a sunny, yet fairly moist, Devon were followed by a few more in Wiltshire, still doing very little, but drinking more and therefore even more justified. When it came to leaving yesterday, I arrived at Westbury train station in plenty of time with my heavily laden bike and, most importantly, my tickets. This is key-- I had tickets. I was told to make my way to the rear of the train to load my bicycle on, only to then be told that I would actually have to take it into the vestibule between the carriages, as the train was too long for the platform and I was therefore unable to access the bike hold. Needless to say, I was none too impressed. I could move it at Pewsey, I was told. "Pewsey? But this train doesn't stop at Pewsey, does it?", I queried. "Oh no", said the member of staff. "You're right. Reading then". Great, I thought. Why couldn't they just load up the passengers and then move the train forward 20 or 30 feet so that the bike can get on? Oh no, can't do that, that's against regulations. Rubbish. How hard could it be? Can't do that? Can't be bothered, more like. So there I was, in this vestibule, holding on to bike so that it didn't fall over, partially blocking other passengers from reaching the toilet and all the time, I was thinking surely, this must be a health and safety issue... surely... in this day and age when there is such a maddening obsession with such matters, something was not right. And I was getting stared at. And I wanted to sit down. Christ, I'd bloody well paid for a ticket and reservation and wasn't even being allowed to use it! Furthermore, why would they issue me with a reservation for my bike if, as they surely must've, they had known about the limitations of the platform at Westbury? To make matters worse, when the train pulled in to Reading station, the door opened and a British Transport Police officer, in tandem with the conductor, proceeded to tell me that I was not allowed to have my bicycle there, that I'd have to move it. "I know!", I cried and started my own tirade, health and safety, blah blah blah, outrageous, blah blah blah before being escorted to the end of the train with my wheels. Then, to add injury to insult, as I was securing the bike, the train began to set off and I was thrust forward, cutting my hand and bumping my shin. Doesn't sound like much, I know, but by then it was more than enough to bring my blood to boiling point.
Needless to say, I will be writing to the company in question and I will demand compensation. First Great Western? First Great Shite more like!