My train journey home from York this morning was one of those where you climb aboard and every seat has a card sticking up to show that it is reserved from Doncaster to Grantham, or from Edinburgh to Kings Cross. By the time I arrived in Coach C, the best spot available appeared to be a not-so-enticing space in the corridor outside a sliding toilet door: just the place to rest a tired, cold-filled head. Then there it was – an empty seat with no reservation card. I eased myself into it, thinking I could get some work on this post done using the train’s wifi. But it didn’t work. Read full post >>