We’ve all been there. Underslept and shivering, kicking your heels to keep you occupied because the idea of blankly trawling through your phone yet again could send you into a spiral of technological self-condemnation. The banshee-like Enterprise train from Dublin roars past on the adjacent track, vengeful and creaking, when the immortal words come blaring over the tannoy in an irreducibly grand English accent: “We are sorry that the 8.55 train to Great Victoria Street has been delayed by approximately 8 minutes. Apologises for this late running and the inconvenience it may cause you.” A giddy pocket of school children elaborately…