The old man cyclist was tapping his feet on the platform with the ferocity of a tap-dancing piglet. It was bad enough that my train was cancelled. But then to be driven splenetic by an irritating old man. What could be worse?

Well, for that matter, a ferocious tap-dancing piglet would be worse. On the up side, at least my tedious rigmarole of a commute was interrupted.

Yeah, right.

I have no tolerance for people that violate protocol. Especially when it involves tapping.

Rule number one. Don’t tap your feet on the platform.

Rule number two. Don’t tap your finger nails on the table.

Rule number three. Don’t tap your pen against your laptop.

To make matters worse, he was wearing the type of cycling shorts that no self-respecting man should wear, let alone any self-respecting old man. Or, for that matter, any self-respecting tap-dancing piglet. Latex bifurcation. Nice.

I was torn between stomping along the platform in the miserable stoop of nihilistic despair, or sowing my eyes and ears shut with dental floss. Fortunately I was out of floss.

Instead, I sat there simpering like an old dog that had just been crushed by a Christmas tree. ’tis the season to be jolly.