To find myself surrounded by tired, drunk racegoers. In top hats, smart suits (morning dress some of them) and expensive, ill-fitting posh frocks. Loud and raucous. I've been on the train from London Bridge to South Bermondsey, surrounded by Millwall fans, and felt less intimidated.
Sitting there (hey, at least I got a seat), something else bothered me. Then I realised what it was - I was the only person in the carriage reading. Weird.
For Simon Hoggart in the Saturday Guardian 'The most expensively-dressed women often look as if they've stepped from the pages of Viz magazine'. Which feels about right. But he likes the spectacle - he comments that Waterloo is 'transformed' by the crowd - and I agree. But not in a good way.
Anyway, as I was heading onwards I noticed one short, noisy woman with a smart, black, off-the-shoulder dress and a grating upper-class acccent being arrested and carefully lead into a waiting Police van. It took three officers to do this, and she ended up sitting on the floor of the van and repeatedly kicking the side.
What's the line? 'I don't think the Police went looking for trouble, but they expected it....'
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