Who’s driving?
I can never quite decide which is the worst mainline station in the country (the best is, of course, Marylebone). The field is so strong.
However, Euston is in with a shout. Airless and brutal, its Soviet charms are helped neither by the impressive, tube-strike-related queue for taxis nor by the cack-handed redevelopment of the booking hall.
Credit where it is due, though, the station pub’s staff were charming, helpful and made me a damn good cup of coffee. And their powerpoint actually supplied power.