Tasha Dhanraj commutes to London

I am very happily writing this column from the comfort of my own bed. This time last week I was commuting to London to join the busy world of actual work… luckily for only two weeks. Despite it being barely a month since I finished my exams, I had happily slipped into the blissful and unhealthy pattern of staying awake until every last episode of Family Guy and American Dad on both BBC Three and FX had finished, then waking up whenever my cats got so hungry they started gnawing through my bedroom door.

My main issue with commuting was not having breakfast until I reached London Bridge. It wasn’t that I didn’t have enough time, it was that the microwave had broken so I couldn’t heat up last night’s dinner. Once I reached London Bridge I was always in such a rush that I couldn’t get anything nice to eat, so was forced to be a bit different. Honestly, few things set up a day worse than a soggy hoisin duck wrap.
The journey itself was dull, broken up only by the mild excitement of seeing a blink of the beautiful Goldsmiths University of London building as the train pulled into London Bridge. There was one particularly thrilling day when someone had the wrong ticket and the whole carriage rose up in anger against the inspector, but that only lasted between Gatwick Airport and East Croydon.

“Few things set up a day worse than a soggy hoisin duck wrap”

The most interesting thing to do was to look at all the other dead-behind-the-eyes commuters and make up their life stories. One day I sat opposite a man I decided used to be a concert pianist before he accidentally burnt his fingers while trying to eat a cheese and tomato panini and could never play again.
I feel sorry for all the people who have to commute every day. Aside from being mind numbing and soul destroying, an hour’s commute either side of work depletes time spent doing the important things. Not only did I not watch Blue Bloods at all last week, but I also missed dinner with my family every day. I like to think it would be worth it if you were doing a job you enjoyed/that paid ridiculously well, but I know for most people that just isn’t the case. The last two weeks have made me certain that when I am older I need to strive to find a job I really love… or, failing that, just move to London.