In Row 4, directly in front of us, is a young family. Mum, dad, baby and toddler. I am very patient. There is squawking and wriggling. I am sympathetic. I am very patient.
The toddler throws his toy car at my head. Then his cup.
The baby drops his dummy 27 times over the back of the chair. I contort my cramped body 27 times to pick it up. I am very patient.
The mother of said infant has a hair-do like a pineapple. It impedes my view of the overhead screen. Okay, so it doesn't take much concentration to watch 'Parental Guidance' (The irony doesn't escape me...) but I get crick in neck endeavouring to see it. I am very patient.
Then mother stands up. My view of the screen is completely obscured. I give her an icy British stare. I clear my throat. She is oblivious like a fence post. I say (politely) 'Excuse me, I can't see the screen.'
Mother mutters a grudging apology, thinking 'intolerant bitch!' under her breath.
She sits down. The pineapple impedes my view of the overhead screen.
I wish for a pair of garden shears.