I’m in front of a member of parliament on the train to Didcot Parkway, I forget what district he’s been elected in. His frumpy and rotund advisor said while in a conversation on the phone whilst grazing on carrot sticks and kettle chips, especially hard to hear while that much crunching, I feel sorry for the person on the end of the phone. A woman and child come over and say, “Those are our seats”, the frumpy advisor says, “no I’m sorry, these are our seats”. Rather pleasant words are spoken between the pair while the little girl watches on bemused by the whole situation. The pair discover that the parliamentarian and his frump are actually on the wrong train because they ‘missed’ there earlier train. Instead of moving for the woman and child, the pair sit while she, child in hand, go off to find someone to sort it out. The parliamentarian and frump chat for a minute or so of how she had a child with her, oblivious to the fact that they should move. The woman and child come back with ticket master in front. Yet another conversation happens this time with the frump protesting that they ‘missed’ there train. The ticket master then concludes the conversation that because the frump has spread her weight around over the seats and the parliamentarian seems to be so plum stupid that he wouldn’t even piss on himself to put out a fire, that they can stay there and that the woman and child will have to find other seats. Just an observation.