EVERY woman you speak to will have a story like this.

Travelling back from a weekend in Manchester and in a train carriage with another young woman and two men in suits. The sliding doors open and in sidles a hulk of a man in red tracksuit, the bottoms tucked in to Homer Simpson socks, and wearing several sovereign rings in silver.

He tries to sit next to me, telling me to shift my books and bag off the seat, and I ask him to move. He sits, then, across the aisle but facing me and mutters, smirking. After a few minutes he gets back up and sits down on top of my books, unknots the cord on his tracksuit bottoms and proceeds to take himself in hand.

I said something like, “Is that it?” and went off in search of the conductor. The conductor made me feel as though I were a touch over-sensitive and, when pushed to bloody do something, moved myself and the other young woman to first class. The suits did nothing. The other young woman was a bit shaken and said she hadn’t known what to do.

I’d known what to do: pull the emergency brake and heave the bloke out on the tracks. Sadly, the conductor was agin me.

Of the two women I told afterwards one, who was far more well-to-do than I, said: “But why weren’t you in first class in the first place?” while the other said: “I hate when that happens.” Because, while it’s unpleasant to have a man wank at you on public transport, it’s not unusual enough to be interesting.

If you read headlines you’d be led to believe Labour leadership candidate Jeremy Corbyn has suggested dealing with the on-going issue of sexual assaults on trains – 1400 last year, according to the latest British Transport Police figures – by saying he would introduce women-only carriages.

Here’s what he actually said: “Some women have raised with me that a solution to the rise in assault and harassment on public transport could be to introduce women-only carriages. However, I would consult with women and open it up to hear whether women-only carriages would be welcome.”

Women-only carriages are a ridiculous idea, placing onus on the potential victim rather than on the perpetrator. Where would we cease? This week a woman in London was pushed from her bicycle into on-coming traffic by a disgruntled pedestrian. Would we have pink Perspex lady-only cycle tubes where the brutes can’t get at us? Actually, having been spat at, shouted at and had my virtue questioned while cycling around Glasgow, it might be tempting.

Lady carriages are a retro nonsense, but I’m sure there are some women who would feel safer in them or who would like to have the option of a bit of travel peace and calm (though how you’d enforce them, given the number of folk you see barking into mobile phones in the quiet carriage, I do not know.) So can we have a discussion about it instead of a hail of outrage? You don’t need to make patronising jokes about floral seat covers and pink window sashes.

The fact the idea has been mooted in the first place shows what a problem street harassment is. But the noisy, mocking response creates its own problem: women have proposed this as a solution they might like to see and now they’re being criticised for the suggestion. We hate the idea of segregated carriages because they disempower women – but doesn’t hollering over the top of women’s ideas do the same thing?

Corbyn hasn’t said lady carriages are his preferred ideal. He’s said women have spoken and he’s listened. How often can you say that of male politicians? Let’s try and keep perspective on this one lest we scare off others from trying out the same radical approach.