Liveblogging from the train.

19:17, Whittlesford.

I'm stuck on the train. We've just had an announcement that we're going to be delayed because of a fatality on the line.

"What did he say?" asks some dippy old woman with one of those faces that looks like your fingers look after a long soak in the bath.

"Someone's thrown themselves in front of a train further up the line" says your helpful scaly friend.

"Oh dear, how long are we going to be?"

"That depends on how many pieces he ended up in."

I think I managed to give her an extra wrinkle.

UPDATE: Eventually got thrown off the train which was moved to a siding, hung around the station for ages with the promise of a bus being summoned but which never arrived. Finally the trains started up again and I got home around 2 hours late. I really hope that being hit by a train really, really hurt the selfish cunt. I was inconvenienced (which always make a grumpy dragon even grumpier) but what about the poor fucking train driver who will now forever see your stupid face coming towards his cab and hearing that wet, squelchy thump as two hundred tons of locomotive impacted you at over 100kph every time he closes his eyes, not to mention the plod and ambulance crews who had to scrape the remains of your sorry arse off the permanent way.