I see you two or three times a week and you’re always shouting at someone. You seem to have more mobile reception than anybody else gets, except I don’t believe there’s anybody hearing you at the other end.
Have you ever wondered why everything is so difficult in your oh-so-high-powered job? Has it occurred to you that if you didn’t spend your time from 7 in the morning shouting at your minions and your family, life might go a little smoother for you? I saw you this morning, having a go at the innocent ticket inspector, claiming you spend £250 on a return ticket. That’s a lie. You travel standard class with me. Don’t exaggerate your woes with people who can’t do anything about the power failure in Watford, it just makes you look silly.
Can’t you calm down a little? I fear that you will kill yourself. The Virgin train is not a place for angst and stress, it is a place for sitting back, putting the phone on silent and watching the fields go by while you make the most of your time offline to plot and dream. We don’t like your seething frustration, it makes a mockery of times of genuine crisis. If you are so genuinely important, go away and sit in first class and stop mithering and moaning in our vestibules all the bloody time.