The train back to London had only just left Cardiff when we stopped in a tunnel. For about 40 minutes. No-one was impressed. Smoke from the engine seeped into the carriage, and everyone’s mobile phone conversations were louder without the low rumble of the wheels on the track to drown them out. A welsh girl ranting loudly about her day from hell. Aw, ye just wouldn’t believe it beeb, am telling ya. Lots of calls home. Gunna be ome late, still sat in this fuckin tunnel. A strange twenty minute domestic from a sweaty young man temporarily sitting across the aisle. Ah no, Sareh, listen tor meh. Ah aint… Am tellin ya… Ah cant say cuz… cuz… Ahm on the treeen, wave all splat up… Nor… Ahm not wath tham.

It was another half hour, the train sitting just outside the tunnel but not at any station, before a clutch of police officers stepped into the carriage and carried on down through the train, and we realised that the delay was due to more than “signalling failures” or the other standard hold up excuses. The cops walked slowly back up the aisle with the tall, blonde, sweaty young man who’d been having the apparent domestic next to me earlier. Paraded in handcuffs he kept his head up high, arrogant composure on his face. He’d assaulted a member of staff, apparently, and we’d had to wait for the police to get to the station before we could pull in. Nice one bro.

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