Transcontinental Express

I have discovered another mode of transport not previously sampled:
Trains with first class cabins - do not be fooled that they're all the same, these little gems keep themselves planted on terra firma while rocketing through the country side unobstructed (the occassional carnage doesn't really count in the scheme of things, what's a couple of slow moving Fiats...really who's going to miss them). You get a hostess who offers up refreshments (and vodka straight is understood on multi-national lines, although I've found the central Slavics the most efficient with replenishing and they even offer drinking competitions....not quite sure why these had to be conducted while squatting behind the counter but hey when in Rome, figured it has something to do with occupational health & safety, after all has anyone ever suffered head trauma when they fall from a crouching tiger position). So there I go being transported at 200km per hour through foreign fields with a clear beveridge and no air-turbulence - is this heaven in a tin-can or what!!

I must confess there are some dangers to this mode of transport and not wanting to lose any more drinking companions I'll offer up a word of warning to those who have a nicotine habit - these dear friends (it was their turn to pay for the next round of vodka slammers) were a little slow. Due to smoking restrictions on board trains - these fellow commuters are forced to make a dash onto the platform (...no, this wasn't the danger, the train was stationary at the time) for a few quick puffs, when their good sense to hop back on and their ennibriated self argued that "the train can't possibly leave without them" - well what can one do except offer a royal wave as they became a distant blurr.
As there's usually a fresh batch of commuters this is only a temporary grieving period while the newbies are inducted into the latest game of 'who can down the most 'shots' before the train hits optimum speed', so far a mountain of a guy from Iceland or some remote Island (Vodka accents are hard to decipher) is the reigning champion and the more liquid refreshment I indulge the more tempeted I am to retrieve my tweezers and see if I can remove the forest of eye-brow hair that's threatening to bury his view completely, although the idea of at least making a central part from his forehead to his nose would be a start.
Now where's the porter or the old lady that's been glaring at me since I tried sitting down between her and the window, she really didn't need the whole seat to herself - well she was snoring and fogging up the glass anyway.