This morning’s blissful snooze on the train was disturbed by a man stood right next to my seat.
It wasn’t because his junk was unnervingly close to my shoulder, threatening to bump into me every time the train driver applied the brakes; it was because he kept sniffing.
It sounded exactly like someone sweeping the road with a very hard bristled broom, using short and ear piercingly sharp strokes.
Every 12 seconds, for around 35 minutes.
That’s 175 times I just wanted to punch him or shoulder barge his balls.
Eventually the train driver did it for me.