Euston, we have a problem – we must learn to love you

Euston, you have a problem. In fact, you have quite a few.

Last month, Britain’s 10th busiest railway station – gateway to the West Midlands, the North West, north Wales and Scotland, and (possibly) the London terminus of HS2 – was described on social media as “easily, easily, the worst in western Europe”.

This comment sparked an outpouring from other disgruntled commuters, and in the same desperate rush from the concourse that’s witnessed daily, when delayed trains are announced just minutes before they leave.

That X/Twitter user spoke for the millions who have to endure the dated, soul-crushing barn of a station when he described its one distinctive feature, the giant overhead digital advertising hoarding, as “like being taken away to be machine-gunned in the woods by various mobile phone and soft drinks companies”.

Last week, in the Labour government’s first genuinely popular move since it took office, transport secretary Louise Haigh announced that the ad display was to be switched off, amid concerns that the flashing monstrosity was adding to the sense of clutter in a station that was routinely overcrowded. “For too long, Euston simply hasn’t been good enough for passengers,” said Haigh.

Certainly, Euston has some imperfections. Most obviously, it’s an ugly, inefficient building, heavily remodelled in the 1960s in a style that has aged about as well as the shellsuit.

The ghastly advertising board is overwhelming. It used to carry departure information, but was frequently broken. Now, there are four sets of departure boards, but they’re all much smaller and hard to see when the concourse is crowded, as it often is. Last year, Euston “served” double the number of passengers – some 42 million a year – than it was intended for.

Anyone who has ever caught a train here will have experienced the “Euston rush” – the dash from concourse to platform when it appears that a train might actually be about to leave; one commentator recently described it “like Squid Game with a Boots”. I’m amazed more people don’t find themselves carried along in the passenger avalanche and end up in Crewe, rather than Bletchley as planned.

The loos are grim, too. The shopping opportunities are uninspiring, and the lighting makes the whole chasmic place feel like a torture chamber. All in all, it’s not hard to see why poor old Euston leaves so many people cursing its crapness.

Add to all this the fact that Euston has been under constant renovation since 2017, to get it ready to be the London terminus for the UK’s second high-speed rail link. Just as when Boris Johnson left Downing Street, we all assumed things would get better. But last year Rishi Sunak’s Conservative government pulled the plug on HS2 trains going anywhere north of Birmingham, leaving the masterplan for the new Euston in tatters – but not before £150m of taxpayers money had been spent.

And yet, despite everything, I can’t help feeling a certain fondness for London’s most brutal railway station.

For 11 years, I made my daily commute to and from Euston. In the morning, I cheerfully alighted from packed trains, and felt that strange excitement that comes from seeing a tide of people all making their way to their myriad places of work. In the evening, I would gratefully board my train home, hoping it would be on time and that I might get a seat, but knowing that soon enough I would be home.

Even when things were totally up the spout, I found a peculiar joy in standing on the packed concourse – sometimes admiring the undeniably lovely, green terrazzo flooring –  figuring out what to do next. Should I wait around, hoping that a train to Berkhamsted might suddenly be announced? Or should I hop on the stopper to Watford and try to catch an onward bus? Or what about catching the Metropolitan line all the way to Chesham, and walking the last three miles home? Each time, a new adventure – or at least a new memory, and a new story to add to the narrative of life.

Commuting aside, Euston is the creaky gateway to so many great parts of the UK. Inter-city rail services, when they aren’t disrupted, are a thrill – and Euston has more than most, to Manchester, Liverpool, Glasgow, Birmingham, and more. It can also be the launchpad to the Lake District, or to the Scottish Highlands, on the glorious Caledonian Sleeper. It may offer its opportunities in a panicky, over-lit environment, but they’re usually worth the hassle.

Indeed, if Labour can sort out the economy, a re-energising of Britain’s railways – even with a truncated HS2 – is perfectly possible, given the solid base of our existing network.

Back at Euston, I can even vouch for the comfort of the seats that dot the ramps down to the platforms. So comfortable are they, in fact, that after a work event one night, I fell so soundly asleep on a bench that I missed the last train home. Another adventure ensued – albeit one that got me into trouble when I eventually arrived home at 6.30am the next morning. Still, Euston can’t be blamed for problems of a passenger’s own making.

Familiarity can breed contempt. But when it comes to Euston station, for me at least, familiarity has bred affection. Which is just as well, as I’ll be returning to my daily commute in the new year. Will I feel so affectionate in six months’ time?

Come on, Euston – don’t let me down.