First class. Now what’s that all about? So, you get an antimacassar, that oblong piece of cloth on which to rest your head, but whether this is to protect the seat or your head, I’m not sure. And perhaps you’re just a little more likely to wind up next to someone more genteel than your (already fairly genteel) average commuter.Far more interesting, though, are the gradations in the hierarchy of seating in standard class. To the casual traveller, this is of no concern, but I’m in it for the long haul, and so I’ve come to know every nuance of every kind of seat – a useable table; an armrest or not; full as opposed to obstructed view; a modicum, or less, of back support; aisle width (and its knock-on effects); and of course leg-room. All of which have alerted me to sensitivities I never knew I had.
But then there’s the human element to consider, and, sadly, it’s impossible to contain an environment that is assaulted – and then mutates – with every stop. But just sometimes I get it absolutely right: my neighbours are as discreet (and as discrete) in their management of personal space as I am; my back is perfectly aligned with my seat; my surroundings remain as peaceful at East Croydon as they were in Lewes. Then I wonder whether this is perhaps what first class is all about, lack of antimacassar notwithstanding.
