I was spurred into writing this post when I was suddenly blessed with a flashback. ‘Blessed’ is perhaps an improper word. It was one of those memories that makes you shudder with nausea. I suppose I was ‘blessed’ this time because the source of this nausea was not me, for once.

It was early November and I was on a Manchester-bound train from London Euston. We had barely reached a half hour out from the capital when we were informed by a very apologetic train-driver that we would be halted for a considerable while. Sure enough we grounded to a stop in some quiet country station.

There was a brilliant sunset, and the light brushed the crisp English countryside. I might have truly appreciated it, were it not for the hangover and the lack of bottled water. But like everyone else, I grudgingly excepted fate. Thirty minutes laboriously passed, then…