Tootling home yesterday from a wedding in wet south Wales and letting the train take the strain.
Two gentlemen my age board at Cardiff and sit at the table section that I've previously had to myself.
They chat animatedly to one another using signing.
Next stop Newport, where train is flooded with English football fans who are male, loud and very well tanked up..
They fill the three seats across the aisle from us, until then occupied by a lone young woman.
They greet her and seem to think that the manner in which they address her is charming in a breezily laddish way. It's not. She politely extricates herself and moves elsewhere.
A fan asks one of my seat companions to move over so that he can sit across the aisle from his chums. Fan eventually realises that the gentleman is deaf and is reluctant to move because he will no longer be seated directly opposite the friend with whom he's signing.
Anyway, the gentleman shrugs, smiles and makes the requested move.
Journey continues. Fans discuss the match, with occasional forays into their work and their love lives. All at high volume and larded with the inevitable f-word.
We dip into the Severn Tunnel, the din unabated.
My companion opposite must have picked up my vibe. He is busy with his phone, keying in a message. Then he grins at me, and holds up the phone, displaying the message shown above.