I do not dream of space in the sense of Rocket Man, Star Wars or Apollo 13 for I am far too grounded. I like to have both feet on the ground and I am too busy wrestling with the demands of this planet to worry about the space travel needed to find another. No. I just find myself wishing that people would show a little more spacial awareness when they have cause to enter my air space.

I am probably just entering my pre-marathon grumpy phase (did I happen to mention that I am running a marathon?) and perhaps I am just giving my inner grump an airing for I have also whinged recently on the topic of people speaking too loudly in public spaces – an infringement of my airwaves if you will. Now I find this infraction compounded by total strangers invading my physical space in a manner totally frowned upon during The Covid Years. Back then I might have yearned to get up close and personal with another human being, even to share my lonesome park bench with another, but now I have reverted to growling at anyone with the temerity to ‘get in my face’.

I personally liked it when supermarkets marked out the designated distance required to queue behind another person. Now I pine for an orderly queue . I believe I am the only person left valiantly trying to hold the line. Nothing stands still, including social distancing and a queue apparently.

Let me give you some examples.

If I am out and about in ‘my’ village clocking up some pre-marathon mileage (I will be, a marathon does not run itself), it would be nice to share the pavement with others. No. If you run up behind someone , coughing discretely to alert them that you are closing in and would like to pass, they will be speaking so LOUDLY on their phone and ignoring the dog that they are supposedly taking for a walk, that they will be blissfully ignorant to the prospect of a fellow traveller wishing to share the tarmac with them. They will then jump out of their skin – in an overly dramatic fashion – when you attempt to shimmy past.

While I am venting about path sharing, let me point out that this sample pedestrian will probably have their aforementioned dog on one of those extendable flexi-leads and they will have been so distracted by their phone conversation that said pooch will now be at the extremity of their control. Last week I saw one of those canine extension cables turn full stinger when it knocked the wheels out out from an unwitting cyclist. The dog owner then shouted menacingly about pet insurance as if the pooch – after crossing two lines of traffic while fully leashed – was the innocent victim.

I give you another space invader. I paid good money last week to catch up with Bridget Jones’ love life from the comfort of a reclining leather seat at Showcase Cinemas, only to find that the plumptious lady next to me had stacked her family sized bucket of pop corn, her vat of coca cola and a very greasy hot dog onto MY arm rest, leaving the pull-out table to her righthand side totally free. I spent the duration of the film wishing that I was wearing my Bridget Jones’ knickers and trying to inhale my circumference into the confines of my cinema seat in order not to touch flesh – or fried onion – with this total stranger. I might add that my unwelcome companion was engaged so loudly in speaking to her friend throughout the film, that she was oblivious to my contortions. I would have been more forgiving if I hadn’t noticed that this couple had managed to leave two seats vacant between each other so that they could recline in comfort.

Other space infringements that I would vent about if a training run was not on my agenda include:

• people who walk randomly out of shop doors without first looking left or right, ploughing into anyone attempting to walk in a discrete and orderly fashion outside.
• people who breathe down your neck when you are grappling with the self- service till at the supermarket. The clue is in the ‘self’ service buddy, back up and queue until it is your turn.
• people who read over your shoulder in a book shop stacked to the rafters with alternative books that they could also take a look at.
• people who – without warning – stop short in the middle of a pavement to check their phone and then give you the evil eye for crashing into them.

Before I lace up my trainers (did I mention that I have a run to complete?) I go to ask Himself if I am turning into a grumpy pre-marathon dinosaur who needs to become more tolerant around people or whether I just have post-menopausal running fatigue. I know he will give me an honest answer. This is a man who relishes any discussion about space travel and even boasts a toy rocket in his front room (not a euphemism).

Sadly I never actually start this conversation because I can see that Himself is standing in my very tiny cottage kitchen and I realise that there may be some irony about querying my spacial intolerance while fretting that it is really a kitchen intended for a lone spinster. Himself has boldly dared to cross the kitchen threshold without the necessary IPS (Interpersonal Space) paperwork and if I start a conversation about space war, splashdown is likely to ensue.

As I look into my space capsule of a kitchen, I reflect that I am now able to answer my own questions. I am pre-marathon, I am post-menopausal and I am fatigued. I will cut myself some slack on the appropriate dinosaur label. Better to get out for my run and learn to share the road than to permanently keep my distance. One giant step should do it. I do believe that space can be overrated.