My parents and I had a 7 AM flight from Stansted airport to Amsterdam. We’re a very punctual family, which meant we were awake by 2:30 AM and at the Cambridge bus station forty-five minutes later. Better to be at the airport half an hour early than 15 minutes late, that’s our way.

Four or five other sleepy people were waiting at the station with their bags. When the 787 came, I handed over £30 and the driver stored our luggage in the belly of the bus. We took three seats in the middle of the bus and settled down to catch up on sleep.

The driver started the bus and in the silence of the very early morning, the bus U-turned to begin its journey.

Suddenly, the bus stopped. The door swooshed open and a young dark haired man in a white sweater threw himself on board.

‘Sorry, I’m was runnning up behind you and shouting, thank you, thank you very much, I’d like a ticket,” he gabbled.

As the long-suffering bus driver took his money, I murmured to my parents, ‘He is very lucky. He got an extra half hour of sleep.’