Dear Reader

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 hum...

Dear Reader,  Today I'm not writing to you as usual, today I am writing to a stranger...which come to think of it, you are too. Well now that we all know our place... Dear man standing next to me on the train, (Calm enough start you think, sure there's nothing to rant about here.  Well the bloody well is) Let me rephrase.  Dear old white man with large stomach standing somewhere between too close and BACK THE FUCK OFF distance from my face. At what stage in train etiquette proceedings did you feel this would be even marginally a good idea? It's buggeringly bad enough that I have to sit on a crowded train, on which there is fuck all air movement but now I have to deal with you leaning over me for eleventy billion hours as we make the rickety, cramped journey home.  At what stage in life did you forget about people's bubbles? Oh wonderful, now you're coughing, you've fucking trampled on my bubble and now you're coughing on it. Thanks a lot. ...