The path to London doesn’t glitter

In which I refuse to turn around at the sound of the bells.

I come from a town of small proportions so I am used to urban areas of a certain size. I like how compact everything is, and particularly the low volume of human beings that never seem to get in my way or are just ‘there’.

So when I have to travel to any city I’m full of dread, there are very few I can tolerate (San Francisco and New York) but one sprawling mass is at the bottom of my list,I keep getting made to go by work, and for anyone who has read the title of this post it will not come as a surprise…

London.

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Dealing with all the idiots

In which I don’t get other people.

I don’t understand people. I think I would be more qualified to be a basketball player than an anthropologist, and be more likely to give birth than be a psychologist. I just don’t get it. What is it about people that is supposed to be so amazing?

Look at yourself, you’re irrational, illogical and lots of other things beginning with an I. The only species more confusing to me are pandas, daddy-long-legs and those dogs that go in handbags.

So what is it about people that confuses me?

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Just getting there

In which if it moves I’m on it.

I’m an equal opportunity traveller it seems. I hate them all equally. Apparently the best part about arriving somewhere is the journey but I live in hope that one day teleportation becomes a viable and non-law of physics breaking mode of travel.

The thought of having to get from point A to point B via any means of transportation fills me with dread and rage. What causes this dislike of mobilisation, and why do I love travelling if I don’t like the process of getting there?
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Ode to British trains

In which the humble train elicits an ode to it’s awfulness.

I start this standing on a cold platform just outside Coventry waiting with my fellow passengers for an already crowded train. In the proverbial choice I’m in the hard place.

For the past few days I’ve been able to work from the kitchen table while in keep an eye on a poorly Mrs G, the commute downstairs was stress bare but now I’m back to joining the hordes. I know this isn’t fun because I look up and can see ten faces and none of them are smiling.

Yet we all throw ourselves onto the 0714, and it is not devoid of moments of beauty.

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Making conversation on the train

In which I do my best to avoid my fellow commuters.

Sitting in the car, stuck in traffic is horrible. While I listen to the radio I am thankful that I am in my own company and not longer a prisoner of public transport. By driving I am no longer having to take the train and rely on the omnishambles that is the British Rail network. After being a commuter for half a year I came to realise the horror of the daily ride to work. I’ve always been used to travelling alone either by car or foot but being enclosed with other people just highlights my dislike of being a member of the public.

Now though I am back on the rails and commuting into to work via the majesty of the British rail network. This means slow and overcrowded trains and my best impression of being horrendously anti-social so nobody dares to talk to me.
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