I have the dubious pleasure of getting the bus into work every morning.

Ideally, I like to spend this time in one of two ways: perusing the Metro, or staring out of the window letting my mind drift off to whatever happy place it desires. Either way, the idea is to distract myself from both where I am at that moment and where I will be within the next half hour.

It also means that I don't have to do that thing which, as anyone who isn't a goddamn annoying morning person knows, is the most horrific task that can befall you before the hour of 10am. That is, hold a conversation.

Let's be clear about this: mornings are not the time for small talk. Conversations - which at any other time of the day would be an acceptable form of communication between two individuals and, indeed, a means of uniting us all in a bond of common humanity - are inevitably perceived by tired and irritable normal people as pointless, vacuous and incredibly irritating forms of earache when they take place in the hours denoted as AM.

Of course, that doesn't mean that the odd comment can't be passed on some current phenomenon, such as a downpour of rain, or the commencement of nuclear warfare. But, even then, they should be limited to one or two suitably restrained 'tut-tut' remarks and a grave shaking of the head, followed by a courteous lapse into the traditional British commuter silence.

Above all, this is not a suitable time for tiresome enthusiasm, or overwrought emotion.

Which is why I was particularly arsed off dismayed this morning to find myself sharing a seat with the middle-aged-woman equivalent of Kevin the Teenager, who filled her interminable relatively short time on the bus with halitosis-infused moaning in my face about the rising costs of bus fares.

Obviously, I asked for it by responding the to first comment she made with a soothing "Oh, I know," remark, in line with the acceptable Odd Comment rule as outlined above. Little did I realise that this was not a sane normal commuter, suitably cognisant of The Morning Commuter Rules, but a Ranting Harridan From Bus Journey Lunatic Hell.

And a bloody stingy one to boot.

"Seventy pence. Seventy pence! I'm only going six stops, and it's seventy pence! It's a fooking disgrace. Don't you think? Stagecoach are a right rip-off. Seventy pence! It used to be fifty-five, you know. Seventy! For six stops! And they're always late, they're never on time. That's what you get for seventy pence! Seventy fooking pence! Doesn't it piss you off? I mean, doesn't it? Doesn't it? It's a wonder anyone can afford public transport. No wonder everyone's driving everywhere if it costs this much all the time. Don't you think? Seventy pence for six stops. Fooking Stagecoach, what a rip-off. Did you have to pay that much? What do you pay? Is it that much? It's a disgrace. Don't you think? Fooking seventy pence. It used to be fifty-five, you know. Do you remember that? Six stops. Seventy pence. Seventy pence. Six stops. Fooking fooking fook... Stagecoach... Grrr... Arrgh... Seventy... Rip-off.... Fook... Don't you think..? Seventy... Six... Don't you think? Don't you think? DON'T YOU FOOKING THINK?"

And everyone around me shuddered, sank a little lower into their seats and thanked their lucky stars that they weren't the most unfortunate woman on the bus this morning - i.e. me. Whilst I was left consumed with impotent rage with this one unvoiced thought.

"If it bothers you that much, and if it is indeed only six stops, why don't you get off your lazy, fecking, whinging arse and WAAAALK!!!!"

"And, while you're at it, stop at the chemists on the way and buy some bloody Listerine."

And breathe...