I like the Cardiff Toy Train service. These tiny trains pretend to go places, and sometimes even get there. The staff are always friendly, and sit with their feet up, eating corned beef sandwiches and joking about how slow the trains are.
My flat overlooks one station, and in the early morning I can hear an automated voice apologising to passengers who aren't there about trains that aren't running.
Last night, however, the Toy Trains surpassed themselves. I left my phone on a train. Now, in London, this would be the end of the matter.
I didn't even realise I'd left it on a train. I figured it was in the flat somewhere, so rang it from the landline, expecting to hear it ringing from under a cardigan.
Instead someone answered it, saying, "Wondered how long it would take you to call."
So, I dedicate this blog post to a lovely Toy Train man called Paul, who'd taken the phone home, and even texted a few of my friends to let them know he had the phone. He then sent the phone back down the line to my station.
It was rather pleasingly like a spy movie - meeting a lonely train on a rainy platform late at night and telling the guard, "Whitchurch Paul says you have a package for me."
The only problem with this is that the Irishman has been telling me ever since I've known him to stop putting my phone in my side pockets as I'd lose it.