I'm wedged between the aircraft fuselage and an enormous man beside me. He's scrolling through TikTok, continuously munching peanuts and drinking full-fat cola. Yes, it's relevant to the story, but we're not there yet.

-Typical that they seated two big blokes next to each other, he suddenly says to me.

I look at him, tempted to inform him that I'm big whilst he's merely fat. But I'm well-mannered and employ my only known superpower - being accommodating.

-Yes, most aeroplanes are built for Smurfs.

He chuckles, and peanut fragments fly through the air, landing in the hair of a woman in the seat in front of him. Then he laboriously turns towards me, as if suffering from both a stiff neck and lumbago. He gives me a conspiratorial look.

-It’s the bloody Liberals' fault.

-Yes, perhaps, I reply with a forced smile whilst trying to process what he's just said. That the Swedish Liberals have compromised everything they believe in just to secure parliamentary seats without any real influence is quite correct. But what do they have to do with aeroplane seats?

-I didn't know they were big in the aircraft industry, I reply, feeling I ought to say something.

-They’re everywhere, ruining everything that's fantastic about Sweden and...

He suddenly chokes on a peanut and can't breathe. His face quickly turns blue, and I'm once again reminded of Smurfs, as he gestures at his throat and looks at me with bloodshot eyes. I want to be a bigger person in this moment. I should yank him out of his seat and perform a perfect Heimlich manoeuvre to save his life. But I have no desire to rummage around his diaphragm and fumble for a seatbelt buried in his fat rolls. Besides, it's doubtful my arms would reach around him; it would just look like I'm trying to spoon a dying man. I'm not sure how I'd explain that to my family. But even if I could get a grip around his love handles, I don't think I could lift him even a millimetre off the aeroplane floor.

-Are the Liberals big in the peanut industry too? I ask before oxygen deprivation causes his eyeballs to whiten and his body to start twitching in convulsions. I realise I should probably call for the purser at this point, but it would be rather nice to have more space to myself, wouldn't it? Am I a terrible person for thinking this way?

Or have I finally stopped being a pushover?

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