I found a loudmouth political troll who had stumbled into our non-virtual world – it didn’t end well for him

This summer, we had a street party and closed off our road with permission from the council and I rolled wheelie bins out to block the end of the road. A young Aussie guy bounded out “I’ve got a removal van coming today, you can’t block the road”. He was not aggressive but was telling me, not asking me, to remove the bin bags. “But you’ve known for months we have a party today,” I said. “Everyone was told and kids are going to be playing, we can’t have cars tearing down here”.

The man, who seemed to get a little taller as he spoke was uncompromising: “I knew about the party, but this is the only time I had to move house.”

Suddenly, I didn’t feel 46. I felt 12 and bullied by one of the sporty kids. I wasn’t expecting this altercation. On stage, as a stand-up, I can deal with anything, I’m prepared, I’ve got armour and ammunition that I’ve learned to deploy with robust finesse. If I’d had a microphone in my hand I’d have nailed the wheelie-bin skirmish.

But I didn’t have time to prepare and so emotion took over and I had to back away because if, like me, you haven’t practised the art of dealing with conflict, when the adrenaline rises out of anger or frustration, you are in danger in these situations of “kicking off”.

I can go from “adult” to “toddler” fairly quickly. In a cinema last year I had a stand-up row with a drunk man who had got his willy out. I was in the right but there wasn’t a need for quite such a scene (Screaming “PUT YOUR PATHETIC C**K AWAY AND GET OUT” is never a good look).

So, when I felt the old red mist descending, I sloped off and told my neighbour Matt. Matt went down to talk to the guy and in a moment they were smiling, shaking hands and had come to some agreement regarding the stupid wheelie bins. Matt worked for a building contractors. He deals with problems for a living (Matt is also a man, but let’s leave all that for now).

I imagine that if you don’t learn at school or at home, you can pick up how to deal with conflict in work environments where you have to be a team player, have a boss and perhaps be the boss. You don’t take things so personally perhaps.

But I make my living in pretty solitary conditions. I write alone, tucked away in a snug room in my house or in a coffee shop somewhere. As a performer I have to deal with bookers and agents, yes, but ultimately I am my own boss and can walk away from situations that make me feel uncomfortable.

Sometimes though, you just can’t walk away when someone is being an antisocial wazzock.

This week, on a train back from the Edinburgh festival, I met a troll. Not the old type that lives under a bridge, but the new type that lurks on the internet goading people until they’re told to sod off and then call everyone a “snowflake” for not being able to “handle the truth”. He was sitting next to me, opposite his very quiet wife and foghorning about what a dreadful train system we have (he was a tourist from Australia in his sixties) and how British people weren’t friendly.

This would get anyone’s back up. He was Mr Noisy and knew full well every Brit in the carriage could hear him. He was real-life trolling to get a reaction from someone. He decided to pick on the super-sweet and polite train steward who was offering tea.

“YOU GUYS NEED TO GET OUT OF EUROPE! NOW! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?” The nice steward clearly didn’t want to engage and politely stated that not everyone felt that way.

“BUT NOW YOU HAVE A GREAT PRIME MINISTER! BORIS JOHNSON” Now other people in the carriage were muttering annoyance.

I honestly don’t care about the political opinions of fellow travellers, I’ll natter with anyone, but the man was so boorish and so loud, that I said “Not everyone is glad he is the prime minister so can you keep your opinions to yourself?”

The Mr Noisy gave me a gift. A gift so perfect, I actually fell in love with him a little.

“WELL” he shouted. “HE WANTS TO BAN THE HEBAB! GOOD! MUSLIMS SHOULDN’T BE ALLOWED TO WEAR HEBABS! THEY SHOULD ASSIMILATE INTO THE CULTURE THEY MOVE TO.” I giggled and said ‘Hebabs?’

He said “YES! HEBABS!”

I said “you’re in luck sir, no one in the UK wears a hebab”.

“YES THEY DO I’VE SEEN IT!” He thundered.

I told him “I think you’ve muddled ‘Kebab’ with ‘Hejab’?’’

Mr Noisy was spitting with rage now. He pointed at me and hissed “women like you are spoiling everything”.

I raised my eyebrows. “Women like me?”

“YES! You put me down. You need Trump to sort you out”

He was beyond angry. I think only the presence of witnesses stopped him throttling me. It was too hard to resist, “Sir, have you ever considered anger management?”

I think I’m finally getting the hang of conflict resolution.

A sincere thank you, if they happen to be reading this, to the lovely ladies who invited me to sit with them and asked me if I was OK. One of them said “He clearly doesn’t understand British culture – we never ever talk about politics with strangers.”