Raise your hand if you hate the British rail system.

I’ve had train dilemmas all weekend… a simple trip to Ludlow involved three delays, one spanning the grand total of sixty-nine minutes. My butt cheeks are still remoulding after a one-hour journey spent huddled in the space that usually holds the refreshment trolley and I’ve inhaled enough toxic fumes to kill several thousand brain cells.

As I write this I’m on the last leg of my journey; finally warm, semi-comfortable and most importantly, seated. Nearby there’s a conductor who obviously fancies himself as a comedian and a pair of lads taking advantage of the inattentive bar staff. Obviously they’re not asking for ID in public transport world. A quiet journey therefore, it is not. Fuelled by Stella, the spotty-faced larrakins laugh in the face of legality and are vocal in the only way pre-pubescent know how; with cheap chat up lines to the girl sitting across from them. In an attempt to impress they boast about recent drug tests though I suspect the worst they’ve ever dabbled with is aspirin.

The poor old woman sitting across from them bravely fields questions about the little pooch (ahem, mini-person) on her lap. Apparently she feeds it the best cuts of meat, cooked with lashings of love and no doubt served before her husband receives his micro waved ready meal.

‘Boy 1’ has just asked her is she’ll swap the bundle of fluff for his Jack Russell. Her look says it all. Obviously not one to take a hint, he’s now offering her an additional tenner. “No? Well, forget the swap lady… you can have our mangy mutt for free”. Luckily, an announcement cuts through his rant. “Attention ladies and gentlemen…”

Oh dear, the sandwiches have now sold out. If I fancied a one day old, soggy carb fest stuffed with limp roughage I’d be disappointed. Luckily, I don’t. The doughnuts however, are top class… or so ‘Boy 2’ tells me. I’m not sure I agree; even the pup is turning his wet little nose skyward.

You’ve all seen the type of dog I’m talking about… the same type of handbag dwelling, high pitched yelping critter that endows the likes of Paris Hilton. This one bears a liking to Gizmo from ‘The Gremlins’. I wonder if this pup also spawns evil when splashed with water. By the looks of his overprotective mistress I’d probably die trying.

Dogs are all the rage lately – little balls of overpriced fluff that think they own the ground they cock their leg on. Then again, when dressed in doggie Burberry who can blame them? There are dogs in London getting around in more bling than I’ll ever be able to afford. In Tokyo, fashion stores have entire floors dedicated to doggie threads. 24-carat collars are all the rage and it’s not the breed but the way they wear it baby.

Dog biscuits it seems, are also a gold mine. I guess if you’re prepared to ‘deck the dogs with clothes and glory’ you’ll want them to eat well. I’m not talking choice cuts here folks, rather, home-grown organic dog biscuits that come in gluten free and vegetarian varieties.

I met a savvy gourmet dog biscuit owner on the weekend who makes a living from the dietary requirements of posh pooches. He’s the boyfriend of one of London’s top fashion designers so chances are, he knows taste when he sees it. One thing’s for sure, when I next feel the need for a health kick I’ll bypass ‘Planet Organic’ and head straight for the pet food aisle.

A bulk order from www.alldogbakery.com and I’ll be on my way to innards of perfection. Gillian ‘Poo Doctor’ McKeith may give us humans the thumbs down but something tells me the brown doggy deposits on the streets of Primrose Hill may tell an entirely different story.