In the "Virgin Trains First Class Lounge" at Euston railway station. I am so pleased I didn't pay full price for my ticket! It resembles a corporate "break out" room at in a 1960s Post House, staffed by surly Eastern European female shot putters in search of fight. At least there is fresh coffee and Wi-Fi.
The train journey to St Pancras was depressing. I appreciate that I run the risk of sounding like Alan Clark, but all around me were signs of the detritus of modern life; track-suited, pierced, tattooed, nose-picking, phlegm-gargling, crotch-scratching monosyllabic grunters. How did this wonderful nation create such a tribe of oiks, then, even worse, allow their feral behaviour to become acceptable?
10:57am: In the train and on my way. The "Assistant Train Manager" has handed-out "snack packs". When I declined she was amazed. "But it's free", she said. Everyone else has grabbed the freebie. Each box contains jelly beans, miniature Ritz crackers, a little pot of processed cream cheese and chocolate covered raisons. I am now surrounded by a sea of slack-jawed, open mouthed masticators. I loath public eating. It's like airline food; why, on a two hour flight, do the airlines feel the need to feed you, and why do people who have breakfasted just an hour earlier feel it necessary to grab and consume what they are offered ? Because it's "free".
The young guy sitting opposite has left his seat fourteen times in 20 minutes: five times to get food from his bag or put something into his bag, twice to walk up and down the carriage, stretching and yawning, twice to get his Kindle then a battery charger, then three trips to the bin with food waste and to chase the "Assistant Train Manager" along the aisle to ask for a second "snack pack" as clearly he needs two tubs of processed cream cheese at 11am, Ghastly.
Right, that's it. Rant over. I am going to read my Spectator and banish from my mind this dystopian world.
PS - since typing the above paragraph, he's been up and down twice more. That's sixteen times in less than an hour. He's returned from (I guess) the lavatory where he has changed into a suit and is now standing in the middle of the train, in his socks, combing his hair and repacking his suitcase. Why would you do this?