The long trek to Cornwall

I'm heading down to west Cornwall next Monday to see my folks. I've done the train journey so often that it has become quite boring, although my spirits perk up at two points in the five-hour journey - during the stretch around Teignmouth, where the line skirts the sea front, weaving in and out of tunnels cut into the reddish cliffs; and secondly, just as St. Michael's Mount looms into view at Marazion. I know I'm home when I see the Mount.

When I am feeling flush, I travel first class. I wouldn't bother if it were a short journey, but it's not and it's one way of adding a bit of comfort to the journey but, during one of the last travels, my First Class 'Quiet' carriage became invaded with Yummy Mummies and their little darlings. Babies with rattles, shrieking toddlers racing up and down the aisles, morons on mobiles. It was a kindergarten on wheels. No consideration - whatsoever - given to anyone around them. 

I complained to the guard (I might as well have talked to one of the babies' rattles...) and sent a stinking email to First Great Western Trains who, to their credit, sent me rail vouchers that have paid for next week's journey. It pays to complain but, to be honest, I would have rather done without the aggro in the first place.