Crusties meet Uptighties

10:02. Monday. The train is packed with crusties as far as the nose can smell. Each excitedly clutching a can of fruit infused own brand cider. A whiff of low grade home grown and unwashed pits fills the air with a thick musk. There is a smile driven bassy drawl of shroom-addled chat aboard the Paddington trundler this morning. Intermittently one can see bobbing heads, hear tutting tongues and the furious rustle of broadsheets. All around are the flared nostrils of North Face and Pringle sporting commuters.