Politeness in confined spaces

I traveled from Manchester to Huddersfield on the rather grandly named, but oddly spaced and capitalised TransPennine Express. The name is not borne out by the mundane layout of the carriages, which - although intended to convey passengers from Liverpool and Manchester to Scarborough and Middlesbrough - are cramped, with narrow aisles that frequently host standing passengers. In my case, I was carrying a rucksack and a small wheeled suitcase and a ticket with a reservation. The seat allocated for my exclusive use between Manchester Piccadilli and Huddersfield was stated on the ticket as being seat 1 in coach B. There were two problems, however, first I couldn't find seat number one, no matter how many people I squeezed past, with 'excuse me' falling frequently from my lips. The second problem was that seat number two, which I could find, was occupied by a woman who had only just realised that the seat was reserved - and that she wasn't supposed to be occupying it. Having found the seat, and seeing when she moved that number one was the aisle seat (she'd obviously bagged the window seat, as you do) I then had to find room to allow her to pass down the carriage, while the rightful holder of the seat number two reservation, who had just made her presence felt, took up her rightful occupation. The train was now moving, so we had to balance, push and excuse as the usurper removed herself and the holders of tickets with reservations for seats one and two heaved their luggage into the space where our legs should have been. This took up an interesting first five minutes of the journey, before myself and my window-seated companion unpacked a surprisingly wide selection of snacks and what looked suspiciously like student work, that she proceeded to mark. Between mouthfuls of crisp and sandwich she also bemoaned the lack of civility of those who take up seats they aren't entitled to. That's the great thing about the English: we are polite to each others' faces, no matter how uncomfortable the immediate circumstances, but once the annoying impediment is removed, we love to complain like hell about the cause of it. Huddersfield couldn't come soon enough. Massaging feeling back into my legs, I left the station and took the expensive option of a taxi home. The cheaper bus would have entailed a 30 minute wait - but more to the point, one public transport-located game of balance, push and excuse was more than enough for one day. Calder Valley Flood Appeal - please donate now.