I can't say I'm very bothered by the first of these, and think it's quite justified when the strike boots one out of one's lovely exit row with tons of room and into a cramped bulkhead seat of a charter aircraft where pretty much the only place to put one's feet is on top of the 3' high bulkhead.

But the last of these is a pet peeve of mine. I cannot stand it when I am talking to someone at a party or in a bar and another friend of that person comes barging up and interrupts me mid-word without so much as the slightest pause (or an apology to explain that it's very urgent). I wonder what advice "Dear Mary" (in the Spectator) would have about how to handle these situations.