I HAD my bi monthly treat the other day. I tavelled from the Lakes to London via Virgin Rail to see our daughters - first class, an absolute bargain with my old person’s rail card.

There were lovely comfy seat, bags of space, and delightful Virgin Rail folk trundling up and down with tea, coffee, lunch, snacks - what service. Always well worth the extra 30 quid. I can highly recommend the quiet coach.

This time, however, I also undertook an onward journey via London Northwestern. It was 50 minutes of sheer, unadulterated hell.

Call me a snob, but really, travel ain’t what it used to be when we had those wonderful old carriages seating six passengers in comfort with a corridor running alongside. Remember?

Nowadays we’re all squeezed in like those unfortunate sheep one tends to spot in wagons on the motorway heading to slaughter.

The average steerage seat now needs to be made about three feet wider. The entire train was full to busting, and I had the misfortune of a fellow lady passenger plonking herself next to me, whose girth belied her dietary habits and whose blubber spilled over into my seat. I could at least rest my elbow on her wallowing fat. She didn’t even seem to notice.

Behind me was some girl listening to music (if that’s what it can be called these days) through ear phones. She didn’t seem to realise that the tinny monotonous overspill of this racket could be heard by her fellow passengers as well. If she did, she obviously couldn’t give two hoots. The poor hapless lass will probably have tinnitus by the time she’s 30, and wonder why.

Lastly, but by no means least, was a child of no more than three, seated across the aisle with, I presume, his mother.

Now, when I was the mother of three-year-olds about 90 years ago, travelling with a small person meant making sure that they behaved in a way that would not disturb anyone else.

We took a special bag packed with a couple of books, colouring pens, sticker books, maybe a small game or puzzle, and what was referred to as 'the bits and pieces box'. That is, a small plastic container filled with bits of fruit, carrot, a raisin or two.

This child was set up with an iPad (no ear phones) and a large bag of some noxious-looking orange crisp things that ponged to high heaven, and which he proceeded to munch while fiddling about on his iPad, playing a game.

The worst thing about this whole scenario was the torturous, wheeling, whine and whoop that this iPad emitted at full blast, alternating with a frightening louder whoop every time said child presumably won his game. Frightful.

His mother sat, totally oblivious, also plugged into ear phones, and ignoring her son and the cacophony throughout.

I staggered off in high dudgeon wondering what the hell has gone wrong with our society.

Louise Broughton

Bowness