I’m standing at a particularly unglamorous bus stop in Glasgow’s city centre. It’s the second time I’ve been found feeling rather sorry for myself here, at this mid-evening hour, in the past month. In both cases it’s been after getting a train to my home city.
The last leg should be simple enough. It’s just one 10-minute train home, followed by a 10-minute walk. But then I’ve been thwarted time and time again by the wait of