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Thursday, 17 March 2011


Monsieur Bloggy here, describing what has become, over the past 9 months, a real gear grinder of mine. I don't like public transport any more than you, dear reader, but I've really started to loathe it. Sharing a carriage with people who would go to work without brushing their teeth if they could (and often do) is rubbish. These are also, although not always, the people who insist on ignoring clear signs I give off regarding personal space and more specifically, seating. Like in the animal kingdom, but not quite so graphically, most of us like to mark out our territory on trains - usually with a bag or coat. Whilst I appreciate the concept of sharing space with strangers on a train (it is 'public' after all), why, after having settled in and given my bag a seat next to me, can you not do the same? (On the 'public' note, this is akin to public toilets in so far as I would not expect to find a man pissing in the slot immediately next to me if there were a whole host of others further away to choose from). There are spare seats dotted all over this train, but you want to come and poke me with your elbows, bash my kness, pick your nose and snoop on my iPad (grrrr) without going to the minimal effort of looking for your own. Oh, and you're clearly ill, coughing all over the shop. Brilliant.

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