Ontrackfortrainrage? Try acting your age

A warm carriage and a hot-headed youngster threaten to derail Fiona’s journey but dignity and a dirty look can go a long way

No marks for the young man I have dealings with this week. It is hot and the train is packed but that is no excuse for bad manners. This time the Royal Highland Show is the main reason for the over-crowding. It is the first day of the event and the station car park is choc-a-bloc with luxurious gas guzzlers.

Yes, the farming world and his wife are on their way to Ingliston – and, alas, although I am with them on the journey, I will not join them on their jolly jaunt.

I am travelling to Edinburgh to work and, despite the crush, still manage to find somewhere to sit. It is next to the luggage compartment. I am facing backwards and it is a little cramped – but no matter. It is a seat.

The trouble starts when a couple get on and tell the twenty-something in front of me that he is in their seat. Reluctantly he gets up and comes round to face me. “That’s my seat you’re in.” “No, it’s not. There’s no reservation sticker.”

He waves a ticket in my face.

“Look, this was my seat. But I moved into the other one to get more room for my computer...”

By now the ticket inspector is also involved. “Yes, madam, that seat was reserved, but as no-one sat in it, I moved the ticket…” “See this is my seat!” The young man is becoming agitated and by now the rest of the train is also having its say.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” a woman declares.

“He should have sat in the seat he booked.” Another nods in agreement.

“It’s his fault if he has to stand all the way.”

The face-off continues. I stand, or rather sit, firm. I consider playing the over-sixties card, which goes something like this: “This is disgraceful. You are a fit young man in your early twenties and you are trying to make an elderly woman stand…”

Well, you know what I mean. Not quite in need of a walking stick just yet. But old enough to be in possession of a senior railcard. And let’s face it. What’s the point in reaching a certain age if you can’t tick a junior off?

In the event, I ignore him and keep the seat. Dignity intact. Young man well and truly glared at. I hope he feels guilty. He probably doesn’t.

The face-off continues. I stand, or rather sit, firm. I consider playing the over-sixties card

At home, meanwhile, the new treatdispensing plastic toy that keeps the MacNaughties amused for hours is sent rolling down the stairs.

When it reaches the bottom step the thing bursts open and 20 or so tiny biscuits spill out.

The dogs rush in. The older and increasingly arthritic spaniel slowly eats his share one by one. The younger, devilmay-care Norfolk zips round, stuffing as many as he can in his mouth. Then he slopes off to a corner to eat his horde at his leisure…

Ah the arrogance of youth. Tell me about it…