What a way to run a railroad! Talk about too many cooks spoiling the broth, what we've got is too many profit-hungry companies competing to make a complete hash of the country's rail network.

Delays and cancellations are commonplace, extortionate fares the norm, and avoidable accidents occur too often. It's little wonder that the system has been going off the rails since it was last privatised. Could re-nationalisation be the answer?

Harking back to the immediate post-war years, when I made daily return journeys, from Woolwich Arsenal to London (Cannon Street) - by what was then known as the Southern Railway - when every carriage was tightly packed with more standing than sitting passengers - I cannot recall any serious mishaps, or regular delays and cancellations caused by bad weather, falling leaves, defective rails, faulty rolling stock, or acts of vandalism.

Of course, during the war and for some time afterwards, little, if any, new rolling stock was made, and track maintenance was, understandably, neglected. This neglect was to take its toll in the 1950s with several rail accidents, notably: Harrow, 1952 (112 killed) and London, 1957 (90 killed). But once things had got back to near normal, accidents were rare, and it wasn't until 1988 that another major rail accident occurred (Clapham Junction - 34 killed).

However, whatever criticism is levelled at the railways, when the ratio of passenger deaths to miles travelled is taken into consideration, trains are still the safest means of land travel in Britain, or anywhere else. The pity is our railways have long been over-managed and under-funded, and not used nearly as much as they could be.

Jean's on cloud nine - or thereabouts - for I can hear her laughingly warble: "...where little cable cars climb halfway to the stars..." as she glides up the staircase. I should explain: last week I arranged for

a man from Acorn to fit her a stairlift. It was a painless operation; some sawing, a little bit of drilling and screwing, and a few light hammer taps here and there, and the job was done in less than three hours - with only one working break for coffee, "milk and two sugars, please", and no mess to clear up. Jean was delighted and immediately made a grand ascent of the stairs; something she hadn't been able to do for several weeks.

My only apprehension about her return to the first floor was that she might start feeling for dust in the bedrooms, inspect the bathroom and her 'tidy' airing cupboard, and complain about my untidy 'office'. But, probably due to her elation at being able to get to our bedroom and the bathroom again, she made only a cursory survey of the upstairs rooms, and even complimented me in her wry way: "Have you had a woman up here?"

The only one in our household who is a little put out by the intrusion of the stairlift is Charlie, whose sleeping quarters are now shared by another 'dog', which we have named 'Sputnik' (travelling companion). Charlie sees him as a very strange-looking pooch, who never barks or growls, doesn't seem to eat or drink, sleeps most of the time, and occasionally moves slowly up and down the stairs, making a low humming noise while carrying Madam on his back.

Charlie is probably worried that the new dog might prove to be serious competition for his 'fetch the Press and the post' job - a well-rewarded sinecure he'd not want to lose. But he will be pleased to note that despite the apparent good behaviour of his new roommate, Madam always carries her stick when Sputnik takes her upstairs and never tips him with a biscuit for his trouble. So Charlie can be reassured - he's still top dog!