When I was on the train home the other night, amid the usual crowds of commuters, a gentleman came and sat in front of me. Not something I usually pay much attention to, as the train is intended for the use of more than one person.
In an ideal world I would have my own train, with a comfy sofa and an endless supply of entertaining and educational dvds to watch on the journey in every day. I could learn other languages, or take a Masters degree, or become a silversmith. I assume you can do all those things by watching someone else doing it? Anyway, if not, on my perfect train, I would be able to.
I'd also have a bed to snooze on if I didn't feel up to the rigours of education so early in the day. Oh, and good books. And some tropical fish in a huge aquarium for me to look at.
There would be fresh flowers every day on my train, and a proper cooked breakfast served to me by a proper chef in a tall hat. And a spa with a huge bath, and maybe a hot tub for the trip home, so I could arrive back all relaxed and fragrant. And a hairdresser, a dry cleaner and an old-fashioned wise-cracking shoeshine chap to keep me smart without having to do it myself.
In fact, sod it, let's just put my office in it and I'll work there too.
Sadly, reality is far crueller. The train is a packed, stuffy, uncomfortable mass transit system that gets me to London more or less on time, most of the time. As an added bonus, if you live West of Gillingham, this week you'd be stuffed into a bus for a big chunk of your trip, due to a landslide blocking the train tracks. Travel in the 21st Century.
Anyhoo, this bloke who sat in front of me. Why did I notice him?