Stansted Airport to Peterborough

A bearded man in a plaid shirt ploughs steadily through an entire pack of Marks & Spencer’s Dutch Shortcake like a gluttonous metronome.

Doncaster to Sheffield

Whilst peacocks display their feathers, social pretenders on trains hold loud boastful conversations. Pretension reigns in standard class.

Cheltenham Spa to Cardiff Central

One of the problems with train travel is the lack of a viable escape route. Not from the train, but from the people occupying it.

Birmingham New Street to Nowhere

Everyone boarding asks the same question of the bookish looking guy sat nearest the doors; “Is this the Newcastle train?” Every time he answers with “I hope so” and a small self congratulatory laugh.

Derby to Nottingham

There’s no escape, whatever has made everyone else on the 18:42 to Nottingham lose consciousness is about to get me

Worcester Shrub Hill to Derby

The train is packed and so throughout it people are being forced to sit with people they would not normally choose to place their posterior near.

Nottingham to Tamworth

I am not the kind of man to eavesdrop or snoop, no matter how great either of those words may sound, particularly when being uttered by a complete stranger.

Derby to Birmingham New Street

The woman with the refreshments trolley clatters past us with all the subtlety of Brian Blessed pissing about with a loudhailer.

Birmingham New Street to Watford Junction

I come from Yorkshire, where the only time the words ‘first class’ feature together in the local vernacular is when folk talk of Geoffrey Boycott’s batting averages