The Confidence of Drink

Coming back from London by train from our Venice trip was the usual uncomfortable affair.

The crummy old carriages that GNER were using to haul us home (and the rest of the passengers on to every station between Edinburgh and Aberdeen) were ill-equipped to take luggage and everyone had piled their suitcases precariously onto the overhead racks and into the aisles.

As the train pulled into Newcastle, there was the usual pandemonium as people wrestled their cases along the narrow aisle to the door.

A Scotsman appeared coming the other way, a can of lager in his hand..

"You might find it easier going if you let us off first," I said.

"Oh aye, but I'm a little bit drunk you see, so I'll give it a go anyway," he beamed, and squeezed past, through the muttering crowd.