When enough is enough?

It's one thing to ask someone to turn down their music because it’s invasively loud, but at what point does it become inappropriate for you to defend your sensibilities and speak your mind? A couple of classic situations afflicted me during the second leg of my trip to London, during which time I spent the 12 hours pondering this very question.

Situation 1: The flight was with Korean Airlines from Seoul and passengers were predominantly of Asian origin, so to begin with I was a minority voice. I was lucky enough to be seated in the same row as a middle-aged Korean man with a loud and somewhat concerning cough. This gentleman was generous enough to share his exposure and its flemmy existence with all those around him by not covering his mouth at all when coughing. And let me tell you, that thing could have deafened a small child. Between hocks and gurgles I didn’t do much to hide my uncomfortable disgust which I’m sure hit home a number of times, but should I have taken that extra step and said ‘please cover your mouth, I don’t want to see down that gaping hole in your head.’ Or perhaps ‘Dude, seriously, cover your mouth, your infecting us all.’

I was actually much more civil and simply turned my back, stuck in the earplugs and went to sleep, but was it my right to say something? What would you have done?

Situation 2: It my attempts to escape the wheezing bagpipe beside me I was forced to direct my glances straight ahead. However this caused me yet another ponderable quandary. The couple in front appeared to be engaged in some sort of avian-like courtship complete with endless pecking, preening and the ever-aesthetic beak-meeting-meal-transference. Yummy! I was sure their little ramba had to conclude with her shaking her maracas for the last time in a frustrated shimmy, but no! They had a dance for every occasion and every single solitary hour. From samba to waltz to foxtrot, these kids had a move for all occasions. I became more than frustrated when trying to watch the in-flight movie over their bobbing, bopping, giggling apparently uncontrollably, wobbly craniums and even allowed myself the pleasure of a kick or two on the backs of their seats, all to no effect.

I think the thing that also really bothered me in addition to the close proximity of our seats was their complete and oblivious disregard for the cultures they were travelling with. I wasn’t the only person made uncomfortable by their hapless foreplay; the folks in rows beside and in front of them were trading uneasy glances and the airhostesses were lost for words when offering meals and drinks.

Should I perhaps have bypassed those satisfying seat kicks and portrayed my disapproval with a cup-full of cold water, or maybe a gentle talk about the birds and bees and the distinct lack of flowers and trees to approve such actions on the plane?

Despite these exciting activities, I made it to London and back to good old Clapham without further incident. Until the next instalment!