A packet of my cigars please Rita

Someone was trying to talk to me in tongues as I entered the tube station. It is no more than I am used to after 21 years of living in South London, at five addresses (only one of them but doors down from Joanna Lumley mind).

It is early I know but I am travelling first class and I wanted to be able to make the most of my complimentary Daily Telegraph. What I miss above all else when not travelling first class, is the hot towels and the array of non-recyclable requisites all individually wrapped. All my travel dreams are sponsored by Maxpax and Traveller's Fare don't you know.

My word, although I did live round the corner for a year and studied round the corner for 3, I had quite forgotten how manic the gateway to the north, otherwise known as Euston station, was. So I have scurried away to the first class lounge for some hand poured refreshment, self-serve refinement and a smile from a girl behind a very high counter. I think her job is, I hope it is, to keep out the riff raff. She’d have come in handy when the ferals were loose last week. (On second thoughts it could always be a normal height counter with her on a very low chair)

Lots of studious quiet people tip tapping on their non windows based lap tops, so I’m going to try and look like a famous author. If only I was wearing a cravat! If anyone approaches I’ll bamboozle them with my Man Booker shortlist stats. ‘Did you know that Dorothy Wordsworth was the only woman from Cockermouth not to be shortlisted between 1604 and 1967?

Blend right in – that’s the secret.

I think some of my fellow travellers must be from the north as a couple of them are dressed in casual clothes. I’ve hired a morning suit for the occasion – traveling first class in casual clothes – what piffle! I’ve just seen a man across the aisle using a biro – I may have to call the guard!

Everyone in my carriage is having con gas – such a bond - a shared love of sparkling water. I do hope these dainties are organic, and there’s still no sign of the fruit I was promised in the brochure!

I’m sitting opposite a very handsome man, I think he might be a second division football player - he’s got a very large bag and delicious forearms. I wonder whether he’d like to start a family. I might ask him if it gets a bit warmer. He does appear quite fertile, but you can’t always tell when they’re sat down.

You certainly can’t fault the British countryside – complimentary fruit or no complimentary fruit - absolutely beautiful. Narrow boats at every turn, hills and sheepes. Oh dear I knew it wouldn’t last, I’ve just seen a car park full of caravans and a sewage works.

Ah well here we are Manchesterford. I must hot foot it to Rosamund Street before last orders to see whether Stella Rivers is still Landlady at the Flying Horse.