You know how when you’re in the Quiet Coach on an express train, and someone pulls out a mobile phone or MP3 player and starts using it, and you just look the other way and pretend it doesn’t bother you, even though it’s killing you inside?
OK, let me rephrase that: When I’m in the Quiet Coach on an express train and someone pulls out a mobile phone or MP3 player and starts using it, I just look the other way and pretend it doesn’t bother me, even though it’s killing me inside.
Luckily, today I didn’t have to do anything, because some elderly lady (who had a whiff of 1950s schoolmistress about her) gave a stern telling off, not once, but twice, to the transgressors on the train I was on. On the second occasion it was to an extremely large scally type, who, despite having youth on his side, didn’t dare to argue with her. I think he was right not to.
I would say “bravo!” to her, but when we got to Lime Street she prevented everybody else in the carriage from getting off while she slowly and carefully (too carefully) got her luggage down from the overhead rack. So now I hate her and want her to die. And the Nokia ringtone to play at her funeral..