A pilchard doesn't even come close

As I stood pinned to the wall of the train with my back digging into the bizarrly placed handrail, a sweaty armpit inches from my head and chipmunk dance music blaring it's tinny tones throughout the carriage, I realised the train service had reached an all time low.

My personal space was now roughly three inches in front of me as I stood face to face with the woman in front, close enough to make out the pores in her skin and hear the music from her headphones. You never know quite where to look when they are leaning on the wall to steady themselves close to your left ear and essentially pinning you to the wall. The train is no place for those uncomfortable in crowds.

In that typically British way we all make small talk about how crowded it is, 34 people swaying around us in the space of one carriage entrance space. The man belonging to the sweaty armpit starts talking lewdly about one of the other women in the train further back and the woman I am attached to looks pitifully towards him.

Walking has proved to be just as ghastly..

This morning as I walked through the streets of Birmingham I almost slipped over on what turned out to be a used condom.

How classy...