Missing Something

Here's the 12:30 service to London Liverpool St. Can you see what's missing?

After deciding platform 2 wasn't appropriate for the service we were ordered to wait at platfom 1. There were the anxious grandparents, standing slightly awkwardly after a tearful farewell on the other side of the gate. Their family stood on the other side, displaying classic 'well we've already said goodbye but should wait' symptoms. The platform-shoed business woman tapped her foot with determined discomfort - there's a reason platforms do not make good impatience shoes. The bequiffed man ate his baguette with studied indifference. I ate a juicy nectarine, second only to spaghetti in stakes of inelegance, and stickied my hands and the floor for years to come.

A garbled message blurted over our heads and, assuming one member of the mass had understood the squawks, we all moved as a pack down the platform. But still there was no train. We made absent minded attempts to predict where our designated carriage would stop, while the Gen Ys told the world about the injustice of it over the twittbooks and the Boomers settled their suitcases with the patience only six decades of delays and waits could teach.

At 12:29 a train appeared. It pulled in and the passengers unloaded, hurrying along the platform. I stepped back to allow someone to clamber up before me, but she shook her head and wandered off. The delay wasn't of any consequence to her. We hopped on board, and after a flurry of doors and luggage the train pulled out. The conductor used his best important voice and informed us there was a delay due to the designated train we were due to board being delayed and well um yes.

So here I am, enjoying my spoils of the delay - a table seat. I'm definitely the winner on this one.