Eau de toilette.

I enjoyed the HS1 experience, though. Some light turbulence was to be had as we trundled under Bethnal Green – the best way to see it, in my humble experience. I actually grabbed my phone off the little seat table at one point, and I put it in my pocket. I wanted to have it on my person, should we crash and I was called upon to document the scene for Twitter, or the BBC News website.

For the futuristic and terrifying experience of being on the high-speed line, I found the toilet singularly unimpressive and a distinctly depressive portent for the future of 21st-century travel. I have yet to perfect the art of weeing on a train at full tilt, but this, I suppose, is my problem and not Network Rail’s. Washing my hands, though, is like being spat on by an angry tramp and then having him fart your fingers dry.

It’s a thoroughly edgy experience, though. You never know whether you’re to inadvertently expose yourself to an innocent fellow passenger because you haven’t pressed the right combination of buttons upon entry. I was on a Pendolino once, and the Blind Date screen moved back to reveal contestant number two reading the paper and having a shit. No joke, he just looked up and then carried on reading.