I DON’T know whether you’ve ever caught public transport but I’ve tried to steer clear.

It’s not that I mind sharing airspace with the general proletariat (joke; I watched Nigella Lawson catch the bus on TV and she’s dead posh, well, it was actually a hired bus full of extras but she still got on it despite the slightly grubby seats).

You see I’ve had some awkward times on public transport in the past.

For example, I once got a National Express coach from Middlesbrough to London.

Foolishly I assumed I wouldn’t need food/water/blankets/first aid kit because the drive usually takes about five hours.

Not when you’re on a National Express coach it doesn’t, I was crushed between an old man and a window for six hours until he finally got up to go to the toilet, thereby leaving his half-empty bottle of Tango unguarded.

I’d been keeping a beady eye on that Tango after passing York.

Since we were just going by Nottingham and I couldn’t envisage a time when I would ever not be on a National Express coach again; I decided to take a sip.

What I tasted was certainly not Tango, it was strong and maybe alcoholic but other than that I couldn’t distinguish.

For the rest of the journey I lived with the dehydration and hoped it wasn’t a sample of some kind.

Obviously there’s been a few dalliances with the night bus. There was that time I got into an argument with a woman because I wouldn’t let her have a bite of my donner kebab despite it being wrapped up.

There was another time when I was taught how to play the spoons by a man sitting next to me, when I really didn’t want to learn how to play the spoons because I was trying to eat a pizza.

I’ve also travelled on an easyJet flight to Krakow.

You might think aeroplanes are not public transport but I’ve come to the opinion that easyJet is – the glamour of international air travel is reserved for those who can afford to pay for business class.

This excursion was disrupted by the woman in the seat one away from me, who had a seizure 15 minutes after take-off.

For one awful moment I thought we were going to turn around and land again.

I could barely read my mountain biking magazine while the only doctor on board was treating her.

And then there was the time I prepaid £32.50 for a return trip to London only to discover I’d got on the 2.55 instead of the 3.55 train.

Naturally I only realised this when the guard pointed it out in the following way.

“You’ve paid a discount rate for a pre-bookable ticket, you’ll have to buy another fare for £92.50,” the guard said.

“I can’t afford that,” I said.

“Well I’ll have to drop you off at Stafford then,” he said.

“Visa alright?” I said.

However in the last fortnight, I’ve caught a train to London all by myself.

This went without incident although my mum had forgotten to pack my mittens (joke; she’d forgotten my hanky).

I’ve also caught the bus twice and only once did some youths spoil it slightly by playing rap music on a phone.

So come aboard. Just don’t bring your spoons.