This is not your living room

Oh my god, people. I know it's a long journey, and some of us spend more waking hours on this godforsaken train than we do with our families, but don't get too comfortable.

This morning, Train Buddy and I have been subjected to waves of the most horrendous stench. We can't pin down the actual culprit, but based on the time lapse between TB's facial contortions and mine, we know it's making it's way down the carriage from behind him. Based on the odor, I should be on the lookout for someone whose face is alternately green and then relieved.

The woman opposite is nicely decked out in a coordinating suit and shoes. And she is clipping her fingernails. Somehow, I think that is almost more repulsive than Mr Sneaky Flatulence.

Certain things should be done in a bathroom in private, or in front of a spouse who no longer has to find you attractive. I'm just waiting for the guy next to us to pop in a DVD and start scratching his balls and then the scenario will be complete.