Its not the life I was hoping for, if I'm honest. Waiting for trains, hoping for a seat, agonising over timetables and upgraded lines and weaving cunning plans to get the best price for a ticket.
I spend 90 minutes in the morning getting to work, if I time it right its 80 minutes coming home. I had planned to calculate how much of my life I have spent traveling to and from work. The figure would no doubt be too depressing, far to depressing.
Instead I will think for a bit about what productive and useful things I have done during that time, no hold on I've slept, read the newspapers and stared into the distance.
Well maybe I should ponder on the far and exotic places I have travelled to and the interesting people I have met. Ah, that is also a bit disappointing also, I've travelled from Knebworth to Moorgate via Kings Cross (or sometimes Finsbury Park.) Thats the same journey over and over and over again.
I've sat or stood in every one of the eight carriages that 'they who are often renamed' have put on, sat in luxury, stood in the corridor, squeezed and pushed onto grossly overcrowded carriages and sat in emptiness wondering where everyone else is.
I hate it, I love it, I'm looking forward to retiring and I'm mostly glad I have a job.
My name is Peter and I ride the train to work.
Sunday, 15 March 2015
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