In the middle of the day, in a sweltering, sweaty train carriage, I am surrounded by flesh. Heaving, clammy, pulsating flesh. No, this is not the start of my disappointing debut erotic fiction attempt, but the disturbing reality of travelling to a British seaside town amid a summer heatwave in 2026.
I cower into a corner and flinch every time someone in the cramped carriage brushes up against me. An already uncomfortable experience is made a hundred times worse by the fact that approximately 90 per cent of my fellow travellers are not wearing what I would deem to be “real” clothes.
