Please Remove Your Armpit From My Ear

I have finally come to understand just why public transport is so despised.
On a trip upon the Piccadilly Line, a necessary journey to reach my home, I found myself sandwiched between the limbs and torsos of an army of travellers. These men were blue jersey clad, loud and I can only presume drunken because if that's what they are like sober I fear the chlorine level in the gene pool may need serious checking.
I have always read James May and found his column hysterically funny, witty, charming, I shall stop there before this turns into a love letter to Mr May. I have quite enough of those written.
My point is, despite all this I have always disagreed with him, and his Top Gear co-hosts, on the issue of public transport. I have not yet learnt to drive and always thought it too much effort considering how cheap and more environmentally sound the alternative is. He however extols the virtues of motorbikes and cars. Any personal transport over that provided by the government.
Finally I can say yes, I completely understand.
Perhaps trains and buses, thanks to bus lanes, are not subject to traffic jams and major delays but in your own car you are not subject to a bunch of drunken yobs who seem under the impression that their armpits are an extreme culinary delight that you simply must sample.
You do not share a level of intimacy with your passenger that would generally require a bottle of wine, dinner and some flowers and chocolates first. Or if you do these items will probably have been proffered before hand, which is fair enough.
So now if you'll excuse me I'm off to get a driving license, a car and something strongly alcoholic to get this awful taste out of my nose and mouth.