Overall, I like to consider myself not too highly- strung when it comes to the behaviours of other people, particularly when it has no impact on my life whatsoever. Sure, I don’t like it when people wear their jeans below their arses or put eye lashes on their cars, but hey, each to their own right?
I also wouldn’t call myself a prude. I don’t have great issue with other people’s public displays of affection- frankly, I think four years of attending the mating grounds that is Loughborough University I’d literally have to see someone snogging a horse in Church for me to bat an eyelid.
But the other day on the Metropolitan Line, at 8.30am, I and other bewildered commuters had to endure the full frontal snogging of a pair of twenty-somethings who were caught in a passionate embrace that lead me to believe that one of them was going to drop dead in ten seconds and this was their final goodbye.
Now, I’m not saying I’d have been any more comfortable watching young teens tashing-on (yuck) but I’d be able to excuse the social faux pas of it. And it’s not as though it was 11.58pm on a Friday, and two love-struck individuals had just hit it off in Roadhouse and had run in the rain to catch the last train home together to begin a night of reckless passion. These were fully fledged adults, draped all over each other, IN THE MORNING. I just don’t know how they weren’t aware that people were watching them, though trying desperately not to.
I hope Karma gives one of them Chlamydia, because it’s people like this who deserve it.