Best not read this if you're eating your breakfast.

Had been getting into the spirit of Christmas attending trash novel publishers annual Christmas party, sipping champagne, chatting to in-house female blockbuster author (who turned out to be male) and wearing new, fake (not wanting to be cruel to little horses) ponyskin mules, when noticed time was cracking on and if I didn't disengage myself from famous female/male novelist, I'd miss the last train home. I said my goodbyes and made way to more crowded than usual train. Managed to find seat opposite teenage couple, celebrating their first anniversary, and next to man who I can only describe as much the worse for having a bit too much to drink.

Much The Worse For was toying with the idea of finishing the can of beer he was holding and seemed to think better of it, placing can on table and closing his eyes. He was pretty much out of it as far as East Croydon but then opened his eyes, sat up and swayed slightly before his appearance, florid appearance, under the bright non-flattering lights of the train, turned slowly but surely green and he ... how can I put this nicely? Anyway, he threw up - a lot - all over himself, the floor and the anniversary celebrating young girl.

I gave him the most disgusted "You are a revolting, filthy drunk" look I could muster, before taking up my bag and running away from the revolting stench. But Miss First Anniversary, who is a much better citizen than I, took a handful of tissues from her bag and, after she had dabbed as much vomit as she could from her lovely celebrating her first anniversary clothes, offered Much The Worse For a handful for himself and asked if he was feeling alright.

In the next carriage I found a seat opposite a group of three lads, who'd obviously had had a party after work but weren't nearly as drunk as Much The Worse For - or so I thought. They were chatting loudly, mostly about Tina who "Definitely has breast implants...." and eating the contents of large Burger King bags, which, as it turned out, served a dual purpose. Their primary purpose was of course the transportation of burgers and chips. But, once they were disposed of, then they doubled as hand sick bags for lads who've had a few after work and can't take their drink after all.

Had a definite "It must be something to do with me" moment when lad, fortunately seated furthest from me, turned greenish, made a grab for his empty Burger King bag and chundered. "Oh God, Pete! You disgusting animal," laughed his companions. "Sorry about our friend!" they said to me. "Can't take his drink. Can you Pete?"

Started to smile understandingly, as Miss First Anniversary had done. After all, Pete was looking extremely sheepish and apologetic and he had managed to at least empty the contents of his stomach into his Burger King bag. He stood up and opened the window, through which he obviously intended to throw the bag. But when he stood up the bottom of the bag gave way and its contents came out with a splat, covering the feet of the four people, seated in the four seats next to the window, which included my new pony skinned (fake) ones.

I'll give him his due, Pete, who was by now pretty sober, apologised profusely and his mates did their best to make him feel even worse than he already did. "Oh, Pete, you filthy, disgusting bloke, all over the supermodels beautiful shoes. You've blown your chances there. Ha, ha,"

But I felt it was now time to move.

I grabbed my shoes and found another carriage, where I sat down next to blond athletic man from Hassocks. I smiled and prepared to flirt, but Hassocks did not respond. Instead he wrinkled his nose and before I could tell him what I had been going through during the last fifty minutes of the journey, he started gathering up his belongings (we were nearing Hassocks - but we weren't so near that he had to gather up his belongings right there and then) and prepared to leave the carriage and wait in the corridor.

Before he left he gave me a look, not unlike the one I gave Much The Worse For and asked: "Been to a Christmas party have you?" Then he went off, muttering to himself about women and not being able to take their drink.