“We just go’ engaged!” slurred the man to the quiet train. He stood, crooked, at the end of the carriage, near the door, a can of Magners’ in hand. Nobody stirred. He patted his, presumably, fiancée, on the shoulder, and tried again, a deep breath, broad lips bearing dry teeth. “We just go’ engaged!” A little louder. As people start to notice they give a little cheer, a weak ‘wahey!’ ripples down the fusilage. “Wha’, just noo?” enquires a nearby punter. The man wears a red checked shirt. He seems friendly enough. “Nae, go’ engaged in Windermere, just bough’ the ring.” He beams again. “We jus’ go’ enaged!” he closes his eyes to the sky. Cyncical as I am, I can’t help but smile at his happiness.