One of the additional horrors of the 7am Northern Crisis is listening to fellow passengers declare that they will shortly be arriving at “King’s Cross St Pancreas”.
Is it really so difficult to distinguish between St Pancras International, popular destination for the start of all kinds of exciting European rail travel (as well as ghastly places like Luton, Margate and Nottingham) and St Pancreas, popular destination for cancerous cells and insulin?
Presumably my fellow travellers believe that it’d be a good thing to name a station after the patron saint of digestion, rather than, say, a martyred 14-year-old. Pancras, now there’s a station name.
St Pancreas: that’s not even a thing / place.