So this is what happened. The Groupie and I went to that London for the day to see Daughter Number One and her fiance (I know, exciting isn't it) and we did what environmentally responsible people do - we caught the train. On the way down we were an early enough stop to get seats but on the return journey Jean-Paul Sartre was again proved right - hell is other people, or to be precise, l'enfer, c'est les autres. A headlong dash to the train served to get us seats but the crowds kept on coming. I gave up my seat to an elderly lady. The age of chivalry is not dead (though clearly dying to judge by the unusualness of my gesture) but the age of manners may well be - miserable sod didn't even say than you. Oh well, Big Fat Pig will perhaps get his reward in heaven (stop laughing at the back).
All in all it was impossible not to compare the experience to my other recent experience of a long-distance train. Marseille to Paris was also very busy but everyone had a designated seat. Flexible tickets do have something to answer for.
Apropos of nothing at all, I will confess to a wry smile crossing my lips as I watched Eddie Jones's discomfiture at the hand of Warren Gatland's Wales. I like Gatland almost as little as I like Jones, but you have to say that he has galvanised Wales even if he did need Matthew Carly's barely moral refereeing against Fiji. England meanwhile lunber their way forward with Farrell seemingly re-established at fly-half. It will end in tears.
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