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There was a time when my home town had notoriety for its motorcycle gangs, and this place was a raucous monkey hut: How times have changed!

On the way down there the train was nearing my station when I donned my coat, my backpack, my toolkit in one hand and my plastering accoutrements in the other (this purpose of my visit was a kitchen replacement errand), and I waited patiently in the aisle as the guy behind me gathered his things.

He didn't look like the kind of person who lived locally, but then; do I? Anyway, I waited patiently, as I say, as he may as well get to the door before me. My attitude changed when he began to fold his jumper in the style of a boutique assistant, and actually started PICKING AT BITS OF LINT!

I gave him the big "excuse me!" and he peremptorily sat back down. He wasn't even getting off!

A good job too, 'cause he may of found himself on the end of a 'lint-picking' under the bypass with some choice grouting utensils, I can tell you!