Since I no longer travel on the Silverlink - recently renamed London Overground in attempt to fool passengers into thinking that the service has improved - I have become less used to retching on my daily commute.  I was therefore unprepared for the treat afforded to myself and the other passengers as my DLR train approached Canary Wharf station yesterday.

I hadn’t managed to get a seat, so was standing up towards the front of the train.  I was staring out of the window, pondering which game I should use to motivate the children in my 9.30 group.

Click, click, flick.

Kerplunk, Hungry Hippos or Buckaroo?  Hmm … the kids love Buckaroo, but the one at the clinic always seems to ‘buck’ too soon, leaving one of the children disappointed.  I can’t be doing with tears this morning.

Click, click, flick.

Maybe Kerplunk, then.  But that takes ages to set up.  What is that noise?

Click, click, flick.

Hungry Hippos it’ll have to be.

Click, click, flick.

What the fuck?

Suddenly I tuned into what was happening.

A seemingly innocuous older lady sitting close by was cleaning her teeth with a toothpick.  With every click she was deftly removing large quantities of plaque from her teeth, and then flicking it straight ahead onto the floor in front of her. 

I felt the bile rising in my throat and turned away to stop myself from vomiting.

The other passengers seated nearby had obviously noticed what was going on; one man had squeezed himself as close as he could get to his partner to avoid being hit by flying debris; another was giving the old lady an icy stare.  Regardless, she continued her merry work.

Of course no-one (not even me!) said anything to her - this is London after all.  Luckily she got off a couple of stops later, leaving her used toothpick behind, of course.

We ended up playing Kerplunk with the group as my trusty assistant had already set up the game by the time I arrived at the clinic.  Unfortunate really, as the sticks in the game look more than a little like oversized toothpicks.