I was on the same tube as Mason Mount recently. I got on the carriage, which was slightly more empty than usual, and could sense immediately that the people on board were tense and nervous. That's not all that exceptional on the underground, but this was a Northern Line train going from Highgate toward High Barnet and it's usually pretty relaxed.

Anyway, I took my seat and got out my phone and started reading r/soccermemes and then felt something like a light but firm tap on my forehead. I looked up and didn't see anything so brushed it off as just one of those things. But then I felt it again, stronger this time. I looked at the person next to me, an old asian woman in a headscarf, and she just widened her eyes at me and shook her head, gesturing behind herself toward the end of the carriage.

I looked up and there was a young man with a kit bag over his shoulder standing by the end doors, looking straight ahead with a kind of fixed gaze, trying not to catch anyone's eye. I was staring, feeling like I knew him from somewhere. He turned his head slightly to look at me. I jumped and might have actually let out a little scream of surprise because I felt it again, like a playful slap across my cheek, and the woman next to me started freaking out, praying in Arabic and rocking backward and forward. There was a dog, a jack russell, with an old man a couple of seats down which started barking, and I could hear a kid somewhere behind me saying: "Daddy, daddy, please make it stop," in between sobs of fear.

It was then I realised that these touches were coming from the young man's nose, which was so long and angular that whenever he turned his head he was literally just slapping everyone on either side of the carriage with it. But everyone was just being too British and polite to say anything. I'm pretty well travelled and I'm at that age where you don't really feel social awkwardness any more, so I decided I would have to be the one to confront him. At the next station, which was East Finchley, I got up and moved towards him.

"Excuse me," I said, conscious that everyone on the carriage was staring at me in silence, though whether they were supportive or excrutatingly embarrassed, or more likely some mix of the two, I couldn't say. "Are you aware that your --" I chose my words carefully -- "central facial protruberance is actually causing some of the senior passengers some discomfort?"

I was going to say more, but at that moment I realised who I was talking to and my mouth just went dry and my mind went blank as it always does around anyone famous. He hefted his kit bag on his shoulder and moved to the doors, holding them open to slip through. I was mortified. Then he turned back toward me as he disembarked, narrowly avoiding knocking me out with his enormous hooter, and said in a totally neutral tone, with no real aggression or anything, "Fuck off, mate. I'm Mason Mount."