My work necessitates a lot of travel. Before you conjure images of me in a smoking jacket sipping martinis in the first-class cabin of a transatlantic flight, let me describe a recent journey...
Imagine, if you will, an intercity train from the 1970s. You know the type: a rust-bucket with well-worn seats in brown-and-orange hues. Now imagine that same train rattling through the Pennines half a century later, coughing diesel fumes.
Recently, I travelled on that train to visit a school. I was fortunate to find a seat and managed to squeeze my laptop onto the pull-down table and settled to work.
My productivity was short-lived. At the next station, two party-goers boarded. I shall call these passengers Sharon and Steve, for those were their names; monikers they repeatedly hollered at each other.
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