Travelling by Megabus is like being stuck between a rock and a hard place.
Or, indeed, between a Nietzsche reading bespectacled nerd/seasoned back packer and a softly round Indian man who eats bombay mix out of a huge bottomless packet with a spoon, shovelling in mouthful after crunchy mouthful noisily.
The volume of Nietzsche was in another language and the spoon shovelling completely bizarre.
I buried my head in The Guardian Review, transporting myself to a world of straightforward black and white, print and paper.
They were probably thinking 'Who is this scarf-draped, left-wing, pretentious child who is so irritatingly rustling and wrestling with her crumpled paper?'
Such is the way of the Megabus. Best to snore and drool one's way through the ordeal.