Thanks for this, @SiobhanONeill

Journey details: Overnight Cancun to Madrid en route to London, zzzz...

The scene: Mid section of a packed Air Europa flight in the knees-under-your-chin class

Passenger description: Enormous, like Brando-esque, shoeless Mexican guy crammed into an aisle seat

The review: So we're all in place and the jam-packed economy section is buzzing with that curious blend of mild anticipation and people steeling themselves for nine long hours of attempting to get 40 whole minutes of sleep by jamming an ear into an arm rest. The air crew are shutting the doors when people become aware of another kind of buzz. A buzz that becomes a low, deep rumble.

Two rows back to my left an enormous in all dimensions and very shiny Mexican with a t-shirt that only partially covers his stomach and no shoes, fills the entire 18 inch seat and then some. We haven't even begun to taxi and this guy is out for the count.

As we reach the runway and the rumble begins to compete with the sound of four jet engines on full throttle, people in the surrounding seats begin to turn to attempt to locate the evident hole in the fuselage. As they realise the source is in fact our tired friend, knowing smiles and winks between passengers hide the weary knowledge that this will not be so funny when we hope to grab some shut-eye ourselves.

By the time we're at 35,000 feet, the guy's snores have reached decibels so impressive that people on the other side of the plane and several rows forward are lifting from their seats to try to identify the noisy sleeper. The poor woman in the window seat beside him has pulled her blanket over her head. Since it's clear the sound of a jackhammer playing on her iPod wouldn't drown her neighbour out, she's evidently just using it to hide her nervous breakdown.

After seven and a half hours of continuous and loud snoring during which a five metre square section of plane pauses their tossing and turning on occasion merely to wonder how this guy can get a better night's sleep in an upright position than most of us can manage on an over-stuffed superking mattress, the lights and the smell of airline panini rouses him from his baby-like slumbers. The sound of two dozen sets of teeth gritting and neck muscles straining as people attempt not to spin round to give him the evil-eye-of-fury fills the air.

But not for long. With sandwich and juice consumed our relaxed traveller drifts back into another 90db snooze for the final descent.

Verdict: Exhausting

Rating: 1 for the early humour factor

Journey: A 45 minute transfer between hotels
The scene: A small group are being shuttled between hotels on a luxurious speedboat.
Describe your fellow traveller: Late 50s white male. His entitlement keeps showing.
The review: For the best part of an hour we glided glamorously along the waves, our collective James Bond fantasies at once realised. After thirty or so blissfull minutes, our faces glowing with evening sun and salty breeze, the captain offers a selection of soft drinks to the passengers. Water, Fanta and Diet Coke are all taken and sipped in a heady daze of privilege and contentment, and we sit back and give silent thanks for this incredible experience.

A lone, middle-aged male soul, though, was voicing some displeasure.

“I don’t mean to be picky, but do you have any Sprite?”

The captain looked nonplussed, but the questioner was insistent. “Could you please just check the cooler and see if you have any cans or bottles of Sprite?” But the more the captain looked, the more the Sprite wasn’t there.

Now, with increased hysteria. “Why wouldn’t you have Sprite? Honestly, that’s what you’re telling me? You have all these other drinks, but you don’t have Sprite! It’s like a joke! No, I don’t want anything else! I WANT SPRITE!”

Behind the man, the scarlet and violets of the sun melted away behind limestone cliffs, the sky afire with colour, the ocean a kaleidoscope of beauty. But a thirst remained unquenched. “Look, I suggest in future you stock up with a FULL RANGE of soft drinks. Some people want Sprite!” he was adding, perhaps unnecessarily.  The captain nodded humbly.

The group sat silently, taking in the glorious end of day, almost overwhelmed at watching the tropical sunset from the decadence of a speedboat. One man sat silently too, oblivious to the natural splendour, but thinking about the carbonated lemon and lime drink that would surely be his within a matter of 20 minutes or so.

Verdict: Get a grip on your privilege.  
Rating: 1/5

Journey: A two hour train journey from Wigan to London on Virgin Trains.
The scene: I'm in the 'Quiet Carriage', which specifically forbids mobile phone usage.
Describe your fellow traveller: A hefty man. 5'8" in all directions. Leisurewear and gold jewellery.
The review: I'm a couple of rows back in an otherwise pretty empty carriage. At least an hour of the journey is spent with him barking into his mobile phone, first to a business partner about an unspecified transaction that is on the verge of going wrong ("You said you had your end sorted, Bill. Why isn't your end sorted?") and then to his romantic partner, where he recounts the conversation he just had ("Bill hasn't got his end sorted. Why hasn't Bill got his end sorted?"). I'm way too British to complain about the violation of the Quiet Carriage. Obviously.
Verdict: Shouty backstreet entrepreneur with inside voice problems.
Rating: 1/5