How to be an arsehole train commuter from the comfort of your home

MISSING your daily ritual of pissing off everyone on your train? Recreate it from home: 

Take business calls

Imagine a loud, intrusive voice, then double it. That’s the volume of a business call in standard class. For that extra dash of realism be on speaker discussing the dullest work proposal in corporate history. No, it can’t wait 20 minutes until the office, you snap at your 12-year-old.

Place your bag on a chair

You’ve got ample leg room. You even have a cupboard under the stairs in which to stow your luggage. But for that passive-aggressive train feel, ensure that your bag is comfortably perched on the only other free chair in your home. When your other half tries to remove it, sigh loudly and roll your eyes.

Eat something that stinks

Prepare a tuna salad sandwich or reheat a bell pepper gumbo, and rather than waiting until in a canteen or well-ventilated area to eat it, seal yourself into a room with your family, prise open your Tupperware and dig in while a foul reek fills the air without an iota of self consciousness.

Don’t let people out of doorways

Does your partner need to leave for work? Or perhaps your children need to go to school? As they attempt to exit, stand right in the doorway and push past them while muttering ‘f**k’s sake’. Act self-righteous and offended when they rightly give you a bollocking for being a twat.

Openly cough and sneeze

Even pre-Covid, coughing and sneezing on trains without covering your mouth was abhorrent. Recreate those halcyon days by hacking up a lung and letting rip half a dozen shotgun-blast sneezes on your housemates at point blank range. Once you’re done, add insult to injury by cheerfully saying ‘aah, much better’.

Bump and grind

Order everyone into the hallway then stand uncomfortably close to them reading their newspapers, breathing into their ears and rubbing unspecified below-waist areas against them. React indignantly when accused, blaming your laptop bag, while remaining in extreme proximity.

How much should you be paid? A gammon decides

WITH the biggest rail strike for 30 years underway, what should train drivers be paid? 58-year-old Roy Hobbs of Swindon, who knows f**k all, decides: 

Train drivers. How can they justify £54k a year when trains don’t even need steering? A round £10k’s fair. Once they’ve got it running they can sell refreshments on commission rather than watching Netflix in the bloody cab.

Police marksmen. Take out terrorist gunmen clean as you like, but how many do they shoot per year? One? Two? That’s like having 363 days off, so according to the average police salary they should be paid £172.60 per annum. If they want to earn more they’ll have to shoot more.

Zookeepers. Meant to see visitors are entertained, but I went to the zoo and I was bored shitless. Shouldn’t be paid more than seven grand unless they get in an enclosure, rile up the beasts and give us the lion-versus-gorilla battle to the death we all want to see.

Bin men. Carrying metal bins was a proper man’s job, but with wheelie bins it’s piss-easy. At most they should earn £9,000, or twice that if we remove the wheels from the bins. That’s better value from our council tax.

Nurses. Britain overvalues its nurses, who are just women who are too thick to be doctors. Handing out a few pills that hardly weigh anything isn’t exactly hard graft, so their pay should be reduced to around £5k a year. They get all their food free at food banks anyway. Nice work if you can get it.

Office workers. Homeworking cowards wrecking the economy by not buying a sandwich and a tabloid newspaper, as the owners of tabloids rightly pointed out. A Daily Mail and £65 every lunchtime at Pret a Manger is mandatory. It’s the only way to make the economy productive again.Pay £3,000.

Rock stars. They all earn too much. There’s balding blokes in sheds could write classic hits for a sensible salary, say £16k, and none of that sex and drugs nonsense. I taught myself Wild Thing in less than a week, so I don’t see what all the fuss is about Jimi Hendrix.

Clowns. The clown I booked for my daughter’s birthday party magically produced a coin from his ear, but was he terrifying? Was he f**k. Stephen King’s Pennywise has set the benchmark so don’t pay more than £5 an hour unless they rip a child’s arm off or turn into a giant spider. And no tip.