Bluetooth has a lot to answer for in my book. Not the 10th Century Danish king Harold Bluetooth, with whom I personally have no quarrel (although the tentativeness of the link between his moniker and that of the now-ubiquitous short-range wireless connection standard does cause mild irritation). No, it is what said technology has done to my perception of my fellow man that is causing me problems.

Back in the day, if you were travelling on public transport late at night, and the person sitting next to you suddenly began speaking loudly, apparently to anyone within a 10-yard radius, rattling off non-sequiturs like the denouement of a Harold Pinter play, you would immediately think about changing seats. Turning sideways, the full horror of the adjacent passenger would be revealed – huge grizzled beard, missing teeth, the stench of stale super-strength lager...  you get the picture.

These days, I've lost count of the times I have needlessly given up my seat on a crowded bus only to look back and find a well-dressed white-collar worker babbling away to his line manager on a wireless headset. The hands-free capability allows these people to gesticulate wildly in the air, you see, while the modern, ergonomically designed headsets are a marginally more stylish fashion accessory than sticking a fag behind your ear.

Apart from making the user look like an extra in a made-for-TV sci-fi movie, these earpieces are virtually impossible to don speedily, as Stephen Merchant effectively demonstrated in the recent series of TV comedy Extras. They’re also not very comfortable.

Well, I've learned my lesson now. My rage and sense of cultural dislocation has dissipated slightly, but I'd still like to see the damn things sent back to 10th century Denmark, or wherever they came from.