Sitting on a train home from London last week, we found ourselves next to an amazingly posh couple. The gentleman’s suit had quite clearly cost more than our car, and the lady’s silk skirt had evidently been magicked together by the fingers of a hundred naked virgins working solidly for at least four months under the stern eye of a cruel, whip-wielding supervisor.
Of course, the upper classes are past masters at retaining as much of their wealth as possible, and so their first-class tickets came with a senior citizen’s discount. Her Ladyship left her railcard out on the table – and I wasn’t a little surprised to see that she really was a ‘Lady’.

Google is a wonderful thing, and the train’s wireless internet connection was working for once: our curiosity led us to details of Baron B—’s public school education, service in the Guards, grand stately home and elevation to his (hereditary) peerage.

We particularly smiled at the thought that, although he was in his 70s, their daughters were younger than Haron. She sat for the reminder of the journey with “called into daddy’s library to be soundly punished for being naughty” fantasies etched quite plainly across her face. I rather fancied the idea of inviting his Lordship to take her home to punish – for dunking her shortbread in the tea, perhaps – but I wasn’t sure that that would really have been the done thing…