Mobiles worse than vuvuzelas
With all the boo hoo hoo about the ear-splitting din of the African vuvuzelas, what about our own vuvuzela-players? Mobile phone blasters.
On the train to Longford, this boisterous, chatty lady seated behind me split my ears for half an hour, chatting into her mobile, until I finally had to ask her if her conversation was going to continue all the way to Longford.
And, on the return journey, a man gave all the carriage the pleasure of listening to his moaning wife, with the mobile's volume turned up. These are only two of hundreds of similar experiences I have endured.