The curse of Mr Sniffles

Our train journey to Barcelona took six hours. We had delightful window seats in the upper storey of the train and enjoyed watching the views and getting some work done.

Except for one thing. In the seat just behind Nigel was a man relentlessly blowing his nose, coughing and sneezing.

For the whole of the journey.

 I remembered far too late that I brought masks in my bag for just such an eventuality.

We couldn't see him but nicknamed him Mr Sniffles. At one point we heard him get up, probably to visit the buffet car. We both peered to see what our Nemesis looked like. He was in early middle age and wearing cream jeans ripped to reveal what appeared to be black rubber leggings underneath. On his top half, a cream sweater with a motif knitted into it in silver lurex. It was a skull and crossbones.

Miraculously Nigel did not contract the cold, but a few days later when I felt my throat grow sore, I remembered the skull and crossbones, harbinger, if not of death, at least of a nasty cold.

PS just wanted to say that this could equally have happened on a plane and wasn't a consequence of train travel. Perhaps Mr Sniffles was also an eco warrior!