Strange Thoughts of a Strange Man

I thought I wouldn't be doing this again but here I am, complaining about some daft bint plastering herself with make-up.

So what's new? Why do I want to moan about this woman today? Why her?

I think I could have coped had she been just putting on her make-up. She was sitting beside me and I couldn't really see her. However, the problem was her elbows.

I'd be getting into a good flow with my writing when she'd start looking in her bag for some little bottle of crap to smear on her face. She wouldn't just look, she'd have a good old rummage and, at the same time, poke me with her elbow as she was at it. Then she'd fluff up her hair. Elbow, jostle, poke. Then her mirror and, oh no!, missed a bit, more make-up and more jostling.

It's difficult enough writing on a moving train but combine this with some mad woman's elbow and it becomes impossible.

In the end I glared at her (and the other two female passengers opposite for good measure) and slammed my notepad shut.

Yes, I know I sound like a complete psycho misogynist but I don't care. I hate my space being violated.

Next time I will say something. I will look barmy but I think I will look less barmy than if I sit there fuming.