Travel Writings.

Today I spent thirty whole minutes on a bus stopped still at a roundabout, trying to remember what my life was like before transport made me so mad I could set fire to things with my fury. My journey was so slow I had time to name all my split-ends just for lols.

This is London travel though, innit. It’s all fun and games, swipey swipe, OH MY A RAT and “aren’t you jealous I get all my daily exercise on an escalator?” until you are delayed. Then it’s all over.

TBH I’m not going to be happy with my two hours of travel a day until they train the pigeons of Trafalgar Square to fly me across London’s polluted horizon on my sleigh of steel and pipe dreams. So the only thing that can possibly cheer me up right now is complaining about this very real and oh so unreliable first world problem.

(The bus made me miss my train so I have beaucoup de time to kill right now. Hi friends.)

Before you think I’m being all negative, I’m not. I watched a video of a baby elephant playing with a ribbon today to remind me of the best possible things in life and my journey home still reduced me to what can only be described as feeling like I’ve been blended in a mixer and surviving, but with no heart.

What else about travelling in London is mega bants? That distinct worry that someone might try and push you in front of a train because they hate you, your bag, their life, bags for life; a worry that requires you to have expert peripheral vision and a generous smile signalling love and good will to all psychopaths, just in case.

Not to mention Person with Suitcase, or friends from home who enjoy saying things like “London is next” and “I can’t believe you get the tube these days”. Vomit on a bus, riot on a bus; I’ve had both at the same time and can confirm they are both well up there.

But GUYS, because I am a Londoner (aka never run out of things to moan about) I realise it would be totally unfair to end this post on a sad note. So I’ve thought of, like, DOUBLE the amount of things that are worse than rush hour in London as an act of consolation.

Like, hello, travelling by bike – helmet hair, everything clashes with fluorescence etc. etc. Not to mention the smell of burnt hair or simply travelling in London on a Sunday with tourists. And sunburn.

Also hangovers, choking on things, the dentist, paying bills, blisters and, of course, animal cruelty.

Obviously, though, it goes without saying that somewhere very deep down I love TFL ’till I die (or just until they train the pigeons) because this city is in my soul and here to stay. I’m basically just upset because it’s all gone to shit since I lost my limited edition Queen’s Jubilee Oyster card. But all this angry writing has made my journey simply whizz by after all and just the way I like it so I’m not even sorry.

Until next time… X

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