I’m early. I’m always early. I arrive through ticket check, passport control and security scan with 10 minutes to spare before the 30 minute pre departure check in deadline. I’m ready for the boarding announcement so I can head to my regular seat in my regular carriage. I have this international weekly commuting down to a tee. I’m ready.

I reach for my phone and wish I had wifi; it’s not free in the Eurostar departure area at Brussels Gare du Midi unless you are travelling first class and have access to the hallowed lounge and the free croissants and wifi that comes with the privilege. I have to make do with Angry Birds and soon become absorbed in slaying the piggies and releasing golden eggs. Time passes and I notice that it’s getting quite busy. I look around and there are people standing.

The buzz of the tannoy seems to go unnoticed by all but me. The announcement starts in French and people around quieten a little, but I begin to wonder if I’ll hear the announcement when three languages later it finally plays in English.  I’m willing people to stay quiet during all announcements in all languages with no success. After the announcement is played in French and Flemish, 80% of the customers in the cavernous room have heard and understood. Noise levels increase and I just make out that the train is 15 minutes late.

As if on cue, my stomach rumbles and I consider the potential of the overpriced coffee shop which is situated behind me. I stand and reach for my bag. Before my rucksack is on my back there is a surge forward of people all eying my seat like wasps around a pot of jam. I falter. Do I want to leave my seat? Yes. I need coffee.

I stand, step away from my seat and before you can say ‘jump in my grave’ I feel the shoulder to shoulder touch of a rotund businessman as he swoops down and lands his prey. He studiously ignores my gaze as I glance back. Sheesh the guy couldn’t even wait for me to fully vacate before occupying my space. I turn towards the coffee shop and am surprised at the number of people now crowded in the waiting area behind me.

The coffee shop is empty and as my stomach does another audible rumble I head towards the croissants and consider patisserie life support more important than a seat for the next 15 minutes.

On the way back, I weave through the crowd towards the seats. The styrofoam cup seems uncomfortably hot and I can see the chocolate flecks in the croissant plait melting through the little window in the paper bag as it bangs against the cup as I walk. I have a dilemma. The seats are all taken. Do I stay with the standing group or start a prowl looking for seats?

Out of the corner of my eye I spy movement in the bank of seats two rows ahead. I quicken my pace. I glance side to side and see no one else on the move. There is a couple in front of me who will reach the seat before I do. I can’t overtake them without breaking into a run and giving one of them a shove. The man in the seat gets up. My heart quickens and I increase my pace again. The couple walk passed the empty seat and it is mine. I settle down with a smile, congratulating myself on my victory.

The light is flickering above my new seat. I don’t care.

The next announcement comes and this time there is an immediate hush. People are hungry for information. There is complete silence through the French and at the end all those understanding emit a collective groan. The noise levels pick up again through the Flemish as all the French speakers discuss the situation only they have intelligence of. Waiting starts to fray the tempers of others. I can see other non-French speakers glowering at those who are so inconsiderately talking; preventing us from learning what we all don’t want to hear. The train is delayed a further hour. I silently congratulate myself again on the fortitude to seek out supplies and secure a new seat.

At the announcement of the hour delay, the man next to me leans over and asks if I can save his seat whilst he visits the bathroom. Aside from this being way too much information for our first conversation, my innate wish to please gives me no choice but to agree. Seconds after he gets up, I find myself having to tell someone else the seat is taken. The man doesn’t understand me. I persist and he eventually gets the message. A woman comes and again I say the seat is taken. I take off my coat and put it on the seat. What if the train is called after all? Do I wait with the man’s bag or make a run for the train? I secretly hope an elderly person or pregnant woman doesn’t ask for the seat. What do I do then? Give them his seat, or my own? It’s too early in the morning to deal with moral dilemmas and I resent being made the guardian of the stranger’s seat.

The man comes back and I glance left. I notice that the person sitting the other side of me has his bag on the seat the other side of him. Oh Man! Don’t put your bag on a seat when people around you are standing! The man gets up and puts his coat on one seat and leaves his bag on the other before wandering off. People walk passed the double seats glaring at me. I realise they probably think I’m taking up all three seats. I’m relieved when the man comes back. Someone asks him for the seat occupied by his bag and I am cross on their behalf at the thoughtlessness of the man in forcing him to ask.

The tannoy buzzes again. The train is not fixed and we have to wait for the incoming train from London. The 0756 will leave Brussels at 1100. A delay of three hours. There is uproar. People spring from their seats jabbing the screen on their mobile phone to pass on the terrible news. Some make for the information desk a few meters away from me. Don’t take it out on the staff, it’s not their fault. There is a crowd shouting at the people manning the information desk. Apologies are not being accepted. All the staff can do is pass on information – they can’t fix the train or perform a miracle; so why do people expect them to? I am embarrassed for the shouty people. I imagine their indignance if their wife or child was being shouted at in such a manner. I worry for their blood pressure and wonder if there is a doctor in the waiting room who can perform resuscitation should one of them require it.

I’m now needing the bathroom. I consider asking the guy next to me to save my seat. I realise the irony that having been annoyed by this earlier I’m now considering asking him to do the same. I decide I’ve benefited from the seat for long enough and slowly get up. The crowd surges forward to claim my seat and it’s like something from the Hunger Games. I imagine the victor with a bow and arrow slaying all in his path towards the prize.

I stretch my legs. I turn to see another rotund businessman has claimed my seat. I step away as the tannoy buzzes for a final time and I am caught up in the swell of people suddenly moving towards the entrance to the platform as if they were fleeing a burning building. I’m released from my waiting game. People who moments before were braying for blood have now become determined to be the first to reach the carriages. They are desperate to leave Brussels. I wonder fleetingly what can be waiting for them in London.

My entertaining wait is over and the only thing that awaits me is work.