Jeremy Clarke: Heaven is afternoon tea with Suzi Quatro

A surprisingly convivial atmosphere prevailed in the second-class carriage of the fast London-bound train when I stepped aboard at Bodmin. A loud, cheerful, messy young family was eating and drinking unrestrainedly, though it was not yet 11 o’clock. Cans of bitter and lager, not all of them unopened, were arrayed on several other tables. Animated conversation and uninhibited laughter were widespread. And — was it my imagination? — a Cornish national spirit presided, vivid with pleasure at the prospect of exchanging a green wet peninsular for the solidity of the metropolis.

As I moved down the carriage aisle searching for an empty seat, Cornish eyes lifted to meet mine, not shyly or slyly, but with friendly curiosity. Some to ascertain how quick on the uptake I was that this was the noisy party carriage; others to gauge what kind of a personality I was bringing to the affair.

I found a vacant seat beside a young woman in her late twenties wearing kneed, agricultural-looking jeans.