Breakfast the Seventy-Fourth

Yoghurt, banana and honey nut cornflakes again.

Why is it that most men on public transport, and seated in waiting rooms, seem to have no concept of personal space? Perhaps I'm just a magnet for men determined to slump down in their seats with their elbows out and their knees a minimum of a metre apart. Any time I'm on a train or bus, or in a waiting room, I end up precariously perched on one bum cheek on the side of my chair, with my legs crossed away from some pathologically relaxed chap's invading limbs.

Sometimes, if I'm in a bolshy mood, I attempt to regain some space by 'accidentally' kicking people while recrossing my legs. More often than not though, I sit there festering, wishing I was brave enough to let rip and tell them to sit up straight and flaming well keep their legs (and arms) to themselves.

Perhaps I'm being unrealistic here, but I think if you're sharing space with a room/bus/train full of strangers, you ought to do do your utmost to take up as little of it as possible.