It’s Friday evening and London Paddington is buzzing with tired commuters awaiting their ride to freedom for the next couple of days. Sushi and sandwiches are munched, cans are cracked open and the aroma of (bad) coffee fills the air. I find myself sitting in a quiet and brightly lit waiting room, filled with complimentary refreshments. I grab two packs of biscuits, a couple of clementines, a plateful of nuts and sandwiches and a cappuccino from the self serve machine. I watch in distain as the coffee machine pours hot milk out of the nozzle into the cup before spurting out a small amount of coffee on top. As I take my first sip, I wince and place it on the coffee table not to be touched again. I sometimes wish I wasn’t such a coffee snob. The platform number of my train emerges on the screen and I wind through the tables with my suitcase onto the platform and onto the train, which is almost full after only a few minutes of opening its …