It’s the old train this evening – and when I say ‘old’ I don’t mean charming-old: one of those Potter-esque-steam-trains with the sliding doors and the storage racks and an air of Romance about them. I mean one of Scotrail’s semi-refurbished contraptions. The kind without tables or plug sockets or, like, a working toilet. The carriage keeps squeaking and making clacking noises whenever we cross a bridge…