NORTHERN PLANNER

So you slide into you’re battered vomit hued GNER seat, looking forward to closing your eyes for an hour or so. It’s 6.50am, the paper is slightly tempting but there’s a long day in front of you, it will be nice to give in to the urge to doze.

Then there’s a commotion behind you. You turn to see harassed Mum, arms struggling with an improbable bundle of bags, her brood bouncing down the carriage in front. Her two boys jump into the seats across from you, she sorts out the paraphernalia before flopping opposite her adorable little darlings. Straight away, there’s a commotion over the bacon sandwiches she’s lovingly prepared for breakfast.

You quietly seethe. You’re peaceful journey is ruined. It would be simple to get up and join another carriage, but you don’t want to offend the poor Mum who looks like she needs a nap more than you do. So the paper is opened instead.

Amidst the comments section you realise something’s not quite right. It’s silent. You peer over the paper to see Mum in the land of nod while her 10 year old reads Harry Potter. The little one is 7-ish. He’s meticulously colouring in a street scene, and completely ignoring the colour guide. So the traffic warden has lost his customary black and lurks on the pathway, resplendent in shocking pink.

Suddenly 5 year old hugs his older brother fiercely. 10 year old hugs him back and tells him he loves him. And all you can feel is shame at you’re earlier grumpiness. You wonder what they’re going to do in London, and silently hope they’re going to have a good day. You know what Londoners are like with tourists.

Mum stirs, on eye opens and sees you staring at her flesh and blood. You quickly return to Polly Toynbee, hoping she’ll let you help her with the bags later.