The hazy disc of the early morning sun hung low over a mournful desert, the muted tones accentuated by the accumulated grime and scum on the window in our 3rd Class carriage; the train was late and I had overslept and it was already 6.30am. Peter sat bolt upright opposite me in a trance, irritated by all of the overnight interruptions from the six other people sharing our little living space.We emerged bleary eyed onto the wide platform under an even wider sky, c...

Images of The Orient Express faded quickly as the reality of 1-AC set in for Peter; there would be no turn down service, no fluffed pillows, no bedside lamp, chaise longue, or button-down starched white attendant. Instead he began a forensic examination of our compartment - running an imaginary white gloved finger along every seam and over each surface, his disdain immediate and obvious "...well of course they didn't finish the job properly!" and "...my pillow i...

It began almost immediately; whilst Peter sat double-showered, preened and manicured in the Golden Dragonfly Lounge, sipping G&T, I was detained and lectured at by our over zealous border patrol storm troopers about my tatty passport and the risk that it (& I) posed to national security. Suitably chastened I hurdled thru the enormous obstacle course of duty free impediments to reach the Lounge ... just as our flight was called. Then onboard, in Goldilock...