The well-spoken gentleman was having as little joy as I connecting to the internet on the train. We swapped technical suggestions: none worked.

He wandered through to the next carriage, returning a few moments later: “No luck,” he said. Then, with a broad grin, he continued: “There’s a chap further down browsing hard-core porn of the most obscene nature, but he swears it’s on his hard disk.”

I giggled; he returned to his seat; the train continued for another hour.

The gentleman passed me again, laden with luggage, as we approached his station. He glanced from afar at my laptop, watching me type. He shook his head in mock outrage. “Disgusting!” he joked.

Had he been able to see the screen, I wonder if he’d have blushed. There are those who would concur with his opinion, had they realised that two girls had already been flogged in the story I’d been writing, and that a third was about to hear the court’s sentence…