One night about fifteen years ago, I was walking down platform 1 at Leeds ready to drive the last train (23 14) to Skipton, when I came across a well-dressed, but slightly dishevelled - and extremely drunk - middle-aged business type lady sprawled out on a bench in the waiting shelter at the far end of the platform, sobbing gently to herself. Trying to help her, I eventually ascertained that she had been to a leaving do (perhaps her own?) in London; boarded the Kings Cross-Bradford train which had arrived and departed in platform 1 an hour or so beforehand; tipped out in Leeds and collapsed into the shelter. She had intended to alight at Peterborough, where her husband was supposed to be meeting her, but had obviously fallen asleep. She couldn't find her phone - and indeed may well have lost it - so I lent her mine. She was so drunk that she couldn't type in her husband's number, so I had to do it for her. At this point the platform despatcher arrived, as it was almost my departure time. I 'helpfully' suggested that she should maybe take a room at the nearby Travelodge, to save her husband from having to drive all the way from somewhere near Peterborough to Leeds and back in the middle of the night....at which point she broke off from shouting and swearing at her husband and screamed at me "I'm not going to spend the f***ing night in some f***ing doss house in some god-forsaken Northern f***ing city!" At this point I retrieved my phone and entered the cab of my 333 ready for departure, leaving Madame Foulmouth in the capable hands of my platform colleague. There's gratitude for you!