24 June 2015, 10 am
Unlucky Gary has accidentally booked me a first class train ticket. For some reason unknown to anyone, including the train operator itself, on this service a first class ticket costs less than a standard class ticket. Perhaps I am supposed to help with the washing up, but no one has asked me yet. So here I am, with a table set before me and not just an at-seat trolley service but a complete à-la-carte breakfast being laid on for me by an army of obliging staff. There is smoked salmon and eggs Benedict, fresh fruit and pastries, and for the plebs there are even bowls of cereal, although cereal is not available between London and the Midlands. Why there should be a shortage of cereal in this region I do not know, and probably this is another issue on which the train operator is not quite in possession of all the facts. Now I am being offered toast and marmalade, as I sit at my laptop pretending not to be fazed. But I know how much I have paid for this ticket and there is no way on earth that the provision of all this obliging-ness and à-la-carte-ness can be financially viable. At some point, surely, I will get found out and asked to move to another coach. Being the CIPA Pee doesn't carry much weight when it comes to first class rail travel.
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