Day 3 - Evening

This evening saw a return to the pre-Christmas timetable and a miraculous result of my making it to the 4.30pm- comfortably- unheard of.

There were many irritations, including a gentleman munching the biggest bag of crisps I have ever seen (the scale of as though he was a borrower and they were a BFG size crisp packet). He munched and munched, with his moth open to allow us the pleasure of the full force of the crunching sound.
This feeding-at-the-zoo replica lasted in total about 30 minutes, by which time we had reached Woking were the dear munching animal sadly departed the train. Only to be replaced by a screaming baby (with mother in tow). I felt a little bad for said mother, she was obviously frustrated and concerned, doing everything possible to quell the anxieties of the young spawn, however was failing miserably.

Was shocked when we arrived at Guildford to see not one soul offer to help her carry the little package off the train- not only would this have been the right and polite thing to do, but logically it would have also been a self-serving act, what with them blocking the exit in their struggle. I was blocked by the many ignorant and too far to offer assistance, for which I can only regret, as I would have taken pleasure in teaching the ignorant the correct behaviour. And in getting off the train quicker to be first into the joy of British weather... Rain. (For two miles home).

Day three...monday 6th January, morning

Following the weekends no transport requirement I was please to see the timetable return to normal and the 6.24 back to it's normal commuter stance.
So I stood on my 'spot' on the platform, end carriage, awaiting the 6.24 with eagerness, my usual crowd joining the line behind me one by one (we are a Britishly sophisticated bunch on the 6.24, queuing politely and properly. Once someone ignored the queue and pushed in front of me when the train arrived. A gentlemen commuterfriend , outraged, told her sternly to wait her turn and how rude she was as I was there first, queuing for 15 minutes, resulting in her muttering rudeness in response and scurrying up the train to avoid further scorn from others in my commuter buddy group. A further result occurred of me now being obliged to say good morning to aforementioned commuter demi-hero, an act I am reluctant to advocate but feel it justifiable in light of such acts of chivalry.).
So waiting patiently, the 6.24 starts to draw close...and closer...and closer...and closer...and goes straight past. Still up to its vacation tricks and stopping four carriages further than it used to, back in the good old days of 2013.
So rushing up to the other end of the platform and squeezing myself between a portly gentleman with his overly tight shirt displaying the over hang of his flesh ridden stomach and a stern looking woman with dark hair still covered by her thick rimmed French hat and got myself a seat.
The man snored. The woman tapped. I tried to sleep but again struggled to find solace in zzzzs until Clapham Junction, and kind of gave up after that.

The underground was average, with added entertainment of a armrestwrestle between a  tall well dress 50 something gentleman and a larger dreadlocked 30 something in a colourful flowery ankle length skirt and black fleece.

There was also a trying-to-be-posh DPI (daddy paid for it) swarm of young girls who squawked loudly until Leicester square. I dislike eavesdropping but its not as though you can close your ears as you can your eyes...and from what I gathered of the squawkers they were possibly going shopping, or for high tea, or a massage...or could probably just as easily have been off to attend the debount gala, who knows. Either way, they were excitable and thus annoying.
But I made it to the office with my ears in tact, so shouldn't really complain.

Day 2....Evening

This evenings commute saw a change to the usual journey home.
Following a day worrying and panicking about the met office warnings of the River Wey in Guildford I decided it was best to collect my car from my partners grandparents house in Effingham, as I also needed to get to Chertsey for a patch test before the evening was snuffed.

After an in-depth discussion with a colleague on the morality and risk assessment of not purchasing an extra ticket (mine states to Guildford via Woking, the Effingham routed train goes to Guildford via Cobham, so South Western, in all their commercial glory, have declared that an unfit route for my particular £4k travel card.) I decided to risk it, mainly because my ticket does in fact cover me until zone six, but there is no opportunity to purchase a ticket from surbiton to Effingham, unless I depart at Surbiton or there's a TI making his or her way down the train.
It should have been £3.60.
I consider myself if impeccable morality and ethics is most certainly one of my key focuses, however I felt absolutely zero empathy for not purchasing the £3.60 ticket. Not only did the opportunity not present itself, but I also feel for £4k a year, I really should have the right to travel anywhere on this train line.

Didnt get caught.

Don't feel guilty.

Day two... Morning!

Tap tap tap tap.
Tap tap tap tap.
Bziiing.
Tap tap tap tap.

This basically sums up my mornings commute. Bubble burst victim.
Highly irritated. Trains still not back to normal.

Day 1- Evening

The return commute of 2nd of January brought upon me many and varied frustrations.

Warren Street - London Waterloo on the Northern Line, second car from the end, was the chosen transport mode for three young German tourists (two males, one female) whom had the incline to shout, non-stop, to each other in a packed car. One was right in my ear (despite me standing) which left me we ringing and sore ears.

Onto the train.
Having had the 16.30 cancelled- not sure if this is a permanent timetable amendment or one to appease the holiday season, it forced the regular 16.30 commuters onto the already crammed 16.45.
Whilst I understand that this time of year is likely to see a drop in commuter numbers, I think South West Trains underestimated the number of holidayers visiting London during the festive break. The train was at maximum capacity, both seating and standing. Not that this was to deter "Ma" with her 10(?) ratty offspring..."Cameron...CAMERON...ask the nice lady to move her knees. Ask her nicely." I don't believe it was entirely necessary for little snot-nosed Cameron to pose the query to the "nice lady", I think she heard. I think Australia heard. (The "nice lady" bashfully and hastily unnecessarily retreated her knees before Cameron had a chance to open his chocolate-covered mouth).

The journey continued in a similar strain throughout Clapham Junction, Woking and Worplesdon. Many, many children. Many, many overbearingly loud mothers.
It's one of my main gripes. Non-commuters don't appear to appreciate the requirement for calmness and serenity on a journey home. I've been up since 4-4.30am, I've had a taxing and long hard day at work, I need to sit down and reflect. Shoving, rudeness, shouting are not only un-British characteristically, but they are also traits best left off the 16.45 from Waterloo.

I was fortunate enough (and commuter-wisely) to gain a seat. Many of the mothers were looking at though they were going to ask me to move for their children. Selfishly, I buried my head in my book and stuck my earphones in to avoid all possible communication. I might not look pregnant nor disabled, but like your children, I too have had a long day (and almost certainly considerably less fun), not to mention an injury you can't see-which, coincidentally, doesn't mean it's not there. The pain tells me it's there. A poorly foot. Caused, one can only assume, from too much walking on New Years Eve. Thus, I really am going to hang onto my hard-fought-for seat. I can almost guarantee your child has an abundance more energy than I.
Don't get me wrong, for a disabled or elderly etc traveler I will more than willingly offer my seat. For for an over-weight 11 year old with their tummy sticking out from under their shirt whilst they cling to a bag of Burger King (oh, that aroma...just adds to the ambiance)... no...no, I will not forgo my hard-earned seat, not for all the tutting and dirty looks in London.

I promptly, and accidently, fell asleep. Still jet-lagged and recovering from several weeks of hectivities, I found myself in quite a deep slumber. Until the wretched tannoy blurted out "Next stop...Surbiton". 'Errr...that's concerning,' I thought to myself as I sat bolt upright, wide awake. 'Have I got on the incorrect train?' Panic ensues. Noone else seems concerned. 'Oh. Shit.'
Five minutes of internal fretting later the guards rushed and almost incoherent voice melodically claims "the next stop is Woking, apologies for the broken system." Phew! South West Trains. Master trolls.

Aside from the afore mentioned general grievances continuing, and the lady next to me 'click click clicking' on her mobile phone consistently throughout the entirity of the journey, the remainder of the evening experience was pretty uneventful.
Until Guildford.
I got off the train with surprisingly limited pushing and shoving considering the sardine-resemblance of the carriage. The problem was getting to the barrier.
Now, as a seasoned commuter I am aware there's only one way to get through the ticket barriers- with patience and speed. The usual format is to queue up, await the person in front of you to put their ticket through the machine, await the opening of the barriers for them and immediately put your ticket in to ensure a smooth transition and no hold up for the queue formed behind you. Now, as I state, this is the usual format. I, however, was groggy and exhausted and forgot the 'wait for the barriers to open for them' stage. The posh lady ahead of me apparently didn't have a valid ticket. I had waited for her to move forward, retrospectively I think she could see the barrier was no opening, judging from her movements intentionally blocking my line of sight. Either way, the result was her going through on my ticket and me exclaiming loudly 'oh!' to which she scurried away, forcing me to race through the barrier at high speed only for my back pack to be caught- unfortunately she was not.

I made it through, cursing her audacity in my head, and continued onto the final leg of my commute- the 1.8 mile uphill trek home.
In the rain.

Day 1- New Year, Almost-new Travel Card

Having just spent £3984 on a travelcard (saving of £120 because I cleverly bought it 'last year'- two days ago, before the price hike) I am here to record my experience, as a commuter, to evaluate the value of our public transport rail service.

Not that I have much of a choice- there's no competitors for South West trains on the lines, and driving/ flying/ swimming is simply not an option for myself, rendering their monopoly on my personal commute from Guildford to London (including Zones 1-6) absolute.

Much of the following is likely to consist of general gripes, not just about the service provision but it's likely to also include general observations (likely negative) about commuters themselves. Just to warn you- I can be extremely irritable and grumpy. Especially on the 5.50am Guildford-Waterloo. Though mainly on the 6.24am.

The creation of what may be comparable to an expanded version of Reginald Perrin is as an alternative to bitching on facebook, which has become an avenue for venting many frustrations, but who really wishes to read about my daily commute. Every day. I do not recall a day since my commute began (in March 2013) when I haven't had something to complain about, in true British persona.

I do not expect anyone to read this. If you are- I don't know how you found it- you must be either an internet genius, or very, very bored (if not- just wait. You may refer to the blog for assistance in reaching stage 2 of your nightly REM). It is more a platform to vent my own frustrations, in order for me to (hopefully) become a more pleasant human as I will not longer require a fifteen minute daily rant to my nearest and dearest.

And so I shall begin....

Day 1- Thursday 2nd January 2014- MORNING

The 1.8 mile walk from my flat to the station seemed long and cold this morning, made longer (and more intimidating) by the lack of lighting. On the plus side, my own shadow didn't make me jump this morning (often happens when crossing the blue-lit Wooden Bridge, where lights intermingle forcing my shadow to creep up from behind me whilst also being displayed in front- never failing to make me believe it's a stranger coming speedily up behind me). This morning, there actually was a real solid person coming up behind me on the wooden bridge, making me jump as he overtook me on the steps down.

Dodging puddles the remainder of the walk put pressure on my swollen foot (UDI New Years Eve injury- no current explanation.)

Arriving on the platform at 6.09am I settled into my current 'novel'- a Lynda La Plant thriller, acceptable but not gripping.

Train arrives at 6.22am (yey- no delay and back to the normal time, rather than the earlier 6.15am they've been forcing me into over the festive period), however I am a seasoned commuter who takes my 'spot' on the train station, knowing exactly where it stops to ensure the door is opened in front of me, at the back of the train. I carefully awaited confirmation from the board that it was definitely still a five coach train (so I didn't need to walk further up the platform), yet, and here's my main gripe for this morning, the train driver didn't stop where he was supposed to. This lead to myself and the other seven commuters having to leg it up the platform to where the train carriages had finally rested. Inevitably the mad crush for the final carriage (caused by several 'places' of people being done out of the their usual entry point being rammed up to the one carriage) forced me into the next along. I, fortunately, got a seat, but not a prime placement- having to settle for the corner left next to the window of a three-facing-three plan. Fortunately it was forward facing (something still unnerves me about travelling backwards) however the suit opposite decided his feet and knees were far too superior for the cramped space provided by South West Trains, thus proceeded to almost touch my seat with his legs, forcing my feet to have to be tucked right under the seat, next to the heater (which was miraculously on for several minutes prior to the air conditioning being turned on. Seriously.).

I promptly closed my eyes before even reaching Worplesdon, though the over-head tannoy system was unusually loud, denying my morning-snooze to fully engulf my being until mid-way between Woking and Clapham Juntion.

Note to train guards: Please note; we don't need updating on why the train has stopped (at a red light) when the delay caused is only two minutes. All you achieve is waking us or disturbing us whilst reading. Thank you.

Arrived at waterloo three minutes before schedule (despite the red-light waiting incident) and continued (with care, due to the poorly foot) onto the Northern line to get to Warren Street. Missed the underground by seconds- got there as the doors were closing (I'm a big believer in NEVER rushing onto trains or tubes in such circumstances- at best you look like a fool, and mid- you delay every other person on the underground (which is highly selfish un un-utilitarian of you) and at worst...well, doesn't bear thinking about).
Had to wait two minutes.
Dropped my book on the platform- butter fingers.
Got to warren street with no further issues.

Was cold walking from Tube to office.

And that completes my first entry- the morning commute.