Bus ride home from Brixton, top deck, Friday night. Craig and I, sleepily lolling on each other's shoulders and occasionally letting our lips stray towards each others'. Nothing teenage, no sucky noises and no tongue acrobatics .... just soft, dozy kisses.

Behind me, a fortysomething man and woman. Man, quite congenial. Woman, staggeringly ill-mannered.

"Ugh! Diss is nat a hoh-tel ROOM!" she snipes. Plus all kinds of revolted, clucking noises of disapproval.

And as much as I tell Craig to keep his head down and his mouth shut when confronted by belligerent people on buses, I wasn't having that. Not with that much beer in me, anyway.

Turning around, I say in my most mock-surprised tone "Really? Because the driver just charged me £50 and said breakfast was included."

She makes some kind of muttered response. The man tells her to cut it out. Chagrined a little, Craig inclines his face away from me. But not for long. Fuelled by a longing to kiss my boyfriend, and a fervent desire to piss this woman off, our lips meet again.

"Dey're startin' dat fookin' shit ah-GEN!"

Grinning against each other's mouths, we ignore her as her companion tries to placate her. And keep kissing. I can feel her seething behind me.

Soon, it's our stop. I spot an opportunity to gain the moral high ground (which I always enjoy) and decide that I won't have been the badly-behaved one, Turning around, I say, in a voice dripping with sweetness: "Have a lovely night."

"I bet you will though!" the man says, chuckling.

Returning his good-natured grin, I make my way down the stairs. The woman sits there, with a face like stone.

And so we went home. And you know what? I did have a great night. Way better than hers, I'll wager.