Virgin Train carriages on the West Coast line have awful technological halitosis. There is always a sickening, stifling smell of diesel fumes mixed with toilets, and a poor traveller sat with the peel from his clementine held under his nose for the entire journey.
Another hapless chap tried to phone his secretary surreptitiously, although we were in the quiet coach. A lady told him off and he left for the lobby with his mobile phone, unaware that he had a big bright blue plastic carrier bag stuck to his arse, probably with static electricity.
When he came back, it had gone.
At the subway station in Glasgow, a man waited for the train with a wire supermarket basket full of shopping- raisin bran cereal, stuff like that. We didn't stare in case he was tough, although a fellow further down the platform was stifling giggles.
I got to the hotel. My room was vibrating and there was a low level rumble. It was so peculiar that I called maintenance.
Apparently there's a dodgy fan on the roof; but I'm staying here in case they give me a worse room.
From time to time, the wardrobe doors rattle.
Today I've been living in a parallel universe.