Chapter Twenty One - Hastag Commuter Life
Dear Readers,
I'll be honest here, #commuterlife is really just a massive rant hiding behind a hashtag. It's an excuse to swear and vent and be rude about people you don't even know, and you know why? Because I am tiny, blonde and very very British and there is absolutely no way I would ever have the balls to say these things to peoples faces....therefore here I am, spouting my nonsensical, slightly violent thoughts to you...whoever is reading...my constant readers.
So remove your children and (hopefully) prepare to have a giggle at the daily mother fucking struggle of being a British commuter with a very anger fuelled internal monologue.
Isn't it amazing how a small change such a listening to music as you travel can change your whole outlook...
I'm currently sitting on my train home from London, its crowded, people are tired and ready to get home, it's completely full, people are uncomfortable and no one would dare make eye contact or speak to another human. God forbid, wouldn't that be awful to endure?
I'm listening to Peter Gabriel - Solsbury Hill, the sun is glowing through the evening clouds, the buildings are becoming trees as we creep out of the city limits leaving behind the dirty air in search of cleaner oxygen and muddier roads. Quieter streets and strangers you say 'hello' to no matter whom they are. And although a long one, it is a beautiful journey if we remember to look out of the windows once in a while. Feeling the evening sun on our faces and finally relaxing in the knowledge that we are going home to somewhere we love and someone we love if we're lucky. To pets, to our favourite chair, favourite book or favourite programme.
There's something ultimately peaceful in that, to share that emotion with maybe a hundred other human beings...these people whom I'll try my darnedest to never make eye contact with and who often frustrate me on a daily basis...we all just want to go home. We all want to see our loved ones, snuggle up on the sofa...relax.
But first we've got to sit for an hour (or sometimes longer) in this sardine tin, breathing second hand air and NOW I'M LISTENING TO AC/DC AND I HATE EVERYONE AGAIN...
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When I see tourists walking through London, smiling, seeing the beauty in the city it makes me smile...but when they're doing so slowly in front of me it makes me want to smack them about the head with my umbrella
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I'll be honest here, #commuterlife is really just a massive rant hiding behind a hashtag. It's an excuse to swear and vent and be rude about people you don't even know, and you know why? Because I am tiny, blonde and very very British and there is absolutely no way I would ever have the balls to say these things to peoples faces....therefore here I am, spouting my nonsensical, slightly violent thoughts to you...whoever is reading...my constant readers.
So remove your children and (hopefully) prepare to have a giggle at the daily mother fucking struggle of being a British commuter with a very anger fuelled internal monologue.
Isn't it amazing how a small change such a listening to music as you travel can change your whole outlook...
I'm currently sitting on my train home from London, its crowded, people are tired and ready to get home, it's completely full, people are uncomfortable and no one would dare make eye contact or speak to another human. God forbid, wouldn't that be awful to endure?
I'm listening to Peter Gabriel - Solsbury Hill, the sun is glowing through the evening clouds, the buildings are becoming trees as we creep out of the city limits leaving behind the dirty air in search of cleaner oxygen and muddier roads. Quieter streets and strangers you say 'hello' to no matter whom they are. And although a long one, it is a beautiful journey if we remember to look out of the windows once in a while. Feeling the evening sun on our faces and finally relaxing in the knowledge that we are going home to somewhere we love and someone we love if we're lucky. To pets, to our favourite chair, favourite book or favourite programme.
There's something ultimately peaceful in that, to share that emotion with maybe a hundred other human beings...these people whom I'll try my darnedest to never make eye contact with and who often frustrate me on a daily basis...we all just want to go home. We all want to see our loved ones, snuggle up on the sofa...relax.
But first we've got to sit for an hour (or sometimes longer) in this sardine tin, breathing second hand air and NOW I'M LISTENING TO AC/DC AND I HATE EVERYONE AGAIN...
-------------------------------------------
When I see tourists walking through London, smiling, seeing the beauty in the city it makes me smile...but when they're doing so slowly in front of me it makes me want to smack them about the head with my umbrella
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What is it with middle aged white men and trains? Honestly they would quite happily push me in front of a moving train to get a sodding seat.
Maybe I'm far too British about it all but when there's 10 minutes until the train is due to leave I'm not feeling like I need to shove people out the way to get to the platform, where there IS NO FUCKING TRAIN YET. Just to stand as close to the platform edge as humanly possible without falling off, so people know that they are to be the first on the train. So help me god I'm not even joking, I have been shoved into barriers, pushed out the way into crowds and cut in front of more times than you can poke a buggering stick at (apparently my mothers sayings have stuck with me).
I'm currently having a silent war with a man on my second train who every day, no matter how bloody close I stand to the door, proceeds to push in front of me so he can get out first. Then proceeds to do something short of a sprint and shove people out of his way so he can get up the stairs first.
Now I don't know what this man has going on with his life or what he's been though but nonetheless....ERGH!
Me, being small, British, shy can only go as far at to shout "WHY DO YOU FEEL YOU'RE MORE IMPORTANT THAN EVERYONE ELSE YOU SELF RIGHTEOUS PRICK!!"
Maybe I'm far too British about it all but when there's 10 minutes until the train is due to leave I'm not feeling like I need to shove people out the way to get to the platform, where there IS NO FUCKING TRAIN YET. Just to stand as close to the platform edge as humanly possible without falling off, so people know that they are to be the first on the train. So help me god I'm not even joking, I have been shoved into barriers, pushed out the way into crowds and cut in front of more times than you can poke a buggering stick at (apparently my mothers sayings have stuck with me).
I'm currently having a silent war with a man on my second train who every day, no matter how bloody close I stand to the door, proceeds to push in front of me so he can get out first. Then proceeds to do something short of a sprint and shove people out of his way so he can get up the stairs first.
Now I don't know what this man has going on with his life or what he's been though but nonetheless....ERGH!
Me, being small, British, shy can only go as far at to shout "WHY DO YOU FEEL YOU'RE MORE IMPORTANT THAN EVERYONE ELSE YOU SELF RIGHTEOUS PRICK!!"
...in my head.
But I tell you what, I give the back of his head a bloody good stare as he half walked half sprints away....
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Update on the train sees Suzie vs middle aged white man.
It is, Sir, an unwritten commuters rule that the one whom presses the button for the doors is allowed to be the first alighting the train. It is common sodding courtesy you jumped up troglodyte in a suit.
Apparently Sir isn't aware, or let's be honest here, doesn't give a rats arse and just pushed in front of me to get out the doors first when I pressed the buggering button!
If he didn't walk so fucking fast I might have a bloody chance to catch up and give him a stern talking to! (Probably not though) #shortandbritish
It is, Sir, an unwritten commuters rule that the one whom presses the button for the doors is allowed to be the first alighting the train. It is common sodding courtesy you jumped up troglodyte in a suit.
Apparently Sir isn't aware, or let's be honest here, doesn't give a rats arse and just pushed in front of me to get out the doors first when I pressed the buggering button!
If he didn't walk so fucking fast I might have a bloody chance to catch up and give him a stern talking to! (Probably not though) #shortandbritish
Rant over...for now.
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I'll tell you something right now. Londoners don't give a fuck about traffic. I'm going where I'm going and no bicycle car or sodding bus is going to slow me down.
Now although Londoners don't speak to each other there is however a strange pack mentality. This is brilliant, like I'm narrating a wildlife documentary. The lesser spotted Londoner lurks in the shadows until the moment is just right, at which point it lunges itself in front of moving traffic. But low and beyond many other Londoners have appeared to join the lone Londoner and they all rush together in a V formation in front on the traffic causing the matriarchal red bus to come to a blinding halt.
Now although Londoners don't speak to each other there is however a strange pack mentality. This is brilliant, like I'm narrating a wildlife documentary. The lesser spotted Londoner lurks in the shadows until the moment is just right, at which point it lunges itself in front of moving traffic. But low and beyond many other Londoners have appeared to join the lone Londoner and they all rush together in a V formation in front on the traffic causing the matriarchal red bus to come to a blinding halt.
One day these little rants may amalgamate themselves into something useful, my Uncle has even told me that I should make them into a book but I'm not sure I have the confidence quite yet to do that. Maybe one day I'll give it a go...until then, I hope you enjoy my little rants dear readers.
Until next time.
S.P.
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