Commuting is a funny old game, as a writer it can be a great place to people watch. Sometimes funny, sometimes sad, sometimes interesting and sometimes downright odd there’s always something to keep you amused. And so I guess I kind of deserved what happened last night when I boarded the train home…

After one stop a very tall gentleman folded himself into the seat next to me. He took a few minutes to settle down, he was tall, the seats are uncomfortable at the best of times. He was taking up a fair bit of room but again, big guy – he can’t help it.

Then he clenched.

That I noticed gives you some idea how closely we were packed in. I was a bit taken aback by this unexpected posterior posing, but when he relaxed once more I thought he was just getting comfortable.

Then he did it again.

And again, and again. At this point I’m trying to signal G, on the seat opposite, without him noticing in case he’s…you know…nuts. G doesn’t do lipreading and after realising that rescue was not going to be forthcoming my mind began to wander: Why was he doing it? How did he think people didn’t notice? Surely he clocked the strange look the lady opposite gave him?

Even stranger was the way he stopped whenever we pulled into the station, almost like he was powering the train with his cheeks. Bizarre. And it struck me, as I stretched for the fifteenth time in a minute – my hat pulled nearly down to my eyes in an attempt to tame my hair, if people actually realise what they look like on trains.

This morning, as a man behind me snorted loud enough for me to hear him over my i-pod (it was playing metallica at the time), I realised the answer was probably no, they don’t. And so I thought it best to take my finger out of my nose.