I get the train a lot. I quite like it. Even with delays and all that.
Sometimes I like the peace and the chance to read, just think and even, now and again do some work that needs thought.
But I also love the train for the chance to embrace the sheer humanity of everyone.
Slice into the stick of rock that is the British public and see what's in the middle.
To admire the sartorial bravery of some..
The Theo Paphitis lookalike in his expensive, mafia coat.
The commuter pairing his cerise Nikes with suit trousers.
The bloke on the quiet coach who waited in silent rage before telling someone to stop typing so loudly.
And the self righteous response from the perpetrator who pointed out that the rules only state that devices should be switched to silent. And just typed louder.
The inner city kids on their first ever trip out of Leeds, on their way to London. Who thought Doncaster was the most amazing thing they'd ever seen.
The old couple sharing a flask of tea.
The bloke on the phone begging his girlfriend to forgive him on the phone. Then laughing about it to his mates.
The coven of lairy hen-doers.
The very well spoken, very old buffet trolley bloke with an obviously intersesting story I'll never hear.
The ticket bloke with the Patience of Job over the indignation of umpteen people who have bought the wrong ticket.
Real people, real stories, real life. A thousand little dramas in the everyday.
You won't get stuff like that in focus groups. Where folks cannot articulate their own lives.
You won't get that in segmentations, that look for what to divides us, rather what connects us.
A thousand little insights, but it's more than that. Planning is as much about instinct as about fact.
It's not about research, it's about truth.
Instincts about what really matters to people and how to become a very, very small part of that.
People live in the real world. Not dimly lit hotel rooms or TGI runs.
Put another way, go to the jungle, not the zoo.