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I took a seat in my customary Carriage A (sorry, no number) but quickly found that the bloke sat in the window seat was one of the types who believes he has a right to his own seat and half of yours as well. He’s legs were spread only just on the side of decency and the way he was hogging the arm rest made him look like a fat Tudor king on his throne.
By the time we’d reached Theale I was already cursing my luck on choosing this particular seat because Old King Cole wasn’t budging an inch and of course I couldn’t do anything as un-English as move seats of my own accord. The next moment there was a tap on my shoulder which turned out to be one of the Theale boardees who was claiming his reserved seat from me.
So whilst I was in embarrassed shock that I’d made that novice mistake of sitting in a ticketed seat it gave me the ideal excuse to move away from Henry VIII and have a much more comfortable journey into town.
The journey home turned out to be just as comfortable as my travelling partner this time was a delicate young blonde lady who not only asked me if the seat was free before sitting down but didn’t take up any of the arm rest, made no noise at all whilst reading her Kindle and didn’t feel the need to put her knees on either side of the seats in front.
Alas me old mate @cr_rail was having a much worse journey. Ooooo, he was cross!
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