A few months ago, delayed somewhere between London Bridge and East Croydon, again, we sat, staring at each other, thinking faces on, trying to work out how many hours we’d have spent on trains once we’d lived in Brighton a year. Minutes in a journey … times two for a day’s commute … add on the inevitable ten minutes of delays … Make allowances for the possibility of fast trains, slow trains, or oh-whoops-we’ve-got-drunk-and-it’s-late-and-we-need-to-change-twice last trains… Take away holiday days, sick days, add extra time days when you have to go into town for other things and…
I am on a train!!!
Things That Should Be Banned On Trains No.8369: Stinky hot Cornish Pasties. And That guy. Definitely that guy.
Wondering where my summer is. This is terrible, I ordered it months ago, where IS it?
Thirty. Days.
In all, after a year of commuting, we’d each spent, give or take, thirty days, all told, on not particularly lovely commuter trains in and out of the capital.
Another morning, another rung on the ladder to misanthropy. This morning: the man who uses his coffee swizzle stick to floss his teeth.
Sitting on the train listening to The Swingle Singers, thinking even Croydon looks pretty while listening to this. And that’s Just Wrong.
And then the season ticket ran out, and the new one arrived, and we started the thirty-day train journey again.
Awarding this morning’s Anna Pickard Prize For Biggest Cliche to the man in duffel coat and poor facial hair reading book on Orks. Congratulations!
On train. Sniff, sniff. Sniff, sniff, sniff. Sniff. Snooorrrt. Sniff. Sniff, sniff. Seriously: doesn’t ANY fucker carry tissues any more?
Marvelling at the Very Fluffy Clouds outside above the train. White clouds, black clouds, grey clouds: but all very VERY fluffy.
Yesterday, I was leafing through the archive pages of my twitter account thing. People seem to be always mithering about Twitter, saying that it is useless, and they can’t see what it is for, and it is not always interesting, or not always useful, or not really world-shattering.
To which I say: Hello? Have you met ‘The Internet‘ before?
Enormous woman opposite on train is concentrating on the phone by pulling up her t-shirt and rimming her belly button with her finger. God blind me.
On the stopping train, the third short-haul commuter in a row has just sat down opposite me and pulled out an egg sandwich. Wah.
I, meanwhile, like Twitter, seeing the prompt question ‘What are you doing?’ as a kind of mini blogging exercise. Trying to get a whole situation and assosiated attitude across in about 140 characters. It’s miniblogging.
Chugging in to work, face at groin height of man with really weirdly shaped trouser-top. Really smooth and kind of rounded. Nappy?
Staring out of the window, trying to make a non-sunny day feel sunny by listening to a playlist of Happy Bouncy Songs. Not. Working.
Blogging being, of course the epitome of all that is useless and not always interesting and hardly ever world-shattering and fabulous in its randomness (and anyone who thinks it/they are above this is deluding themselves, I fear).
Wondering just how illegal it would be to campaign to have the directors of First Capital Connect rounded up and shot at dawn.
So I like Twitter. So there.
On the early early train, watching a tiny spider trying to build a web between the luggage rack and a commuter’s shirt-sleeve.
Thinking I am surely on the Train Carriage Of The Damned. If I am struck down with The Ill, I know who I will be blaming.
Inhaling deeply as train rushes through countryside toward home. Will probly make me sneeze, but English summer smells good (when not of poo).
Wondering why it is illegal to kill people who are annoying on trains. “Shaaaaat AAAP!” Why. WHY?
See, Twitter fulfils my need to urgently relay a thought to someone, anyone, to scratch it on some ginormous invisible diary page just because for that moment it was the one thought that utterly consumed me.
Gatwick smells of toilet and is entirely populated by idiots.
On the train. Could It Be Magic (Take That version, obv) has just shuffled onto iPod. Trying hard not to sing along.
We are being diverted via Lewes!!! This is very exciting. I have never been to Lewes. I will shout it in my best Inspector Morse voice. Yes.
Listening to a big dull businessman in brown cords describing his weekend in minute detail on the phone. Sad. And also tired.
Or because I have a thing rattling around my brain, and the only way to get it out - like having an earworm, a tune going around your head; this is what writing is like for me - is to craft it, and mark it down somewhere.
Counting how many times the man on the train rearranges his penis. Every time he coughs + every time he thinks no one is looking multiplied by “some” = ?
Humph. If I lived in Croydon I’d be home in time for house. Stupid elections. Interesting. Never wished i lived in Croydon before…
On the train in after veh long delayed bank holiday weekend. I have don’t-want-to-go-to-school-itis.
I don’t update it that often, but was surprised, when I went to look at it in retrospect to see how much I have used it just to post a thought I didn’t want to forget from the train. Mostly, of course, I used it to have a bit of a rant about someone annoying me (it happens. often) - and occasionally, very occasionally, I will use it to ask the people on my twitter list a question. Mainly about a word that I have lost and desperately need for something I am writing, on the train.
Fuck. Wednesday’s lost word question. What’s the name for the improvised weapon often used to kill people in prisons?
Trying desperately to remember what that word is for people with no colouring and pink eyes. I know it’s not an ameoba. What Is?
Mostly pissed off. Missed train due to leaving necessary thing on desk. Got to station too late for the free sudoku lady. You know, with the newspaper thing.
Trying to watch important pop video on laptop, but keep getting distracted by couple opposite with HUGE nostrils.
HUGE-nostrilled couple opposite now snogging. Wondering idly what their children would look like. Like Nigel Havers + horses.
It’s funny, reading through them, I can remember texting them, sending them, the annoyance or fluffiness or occasional poignancy that coloured that moment of commuterness.
Post-gym. On train, listening to irritable mother tell small son that he ‘ruins absolutely everything’. Turning iPod up.
Just realised that there is a Perfect example of an ox bow lake visible from train! Ms Stack would be SO proud of me! Yay!
Short-attention spanned as I am, they represent as well as anything I’ve ever found how my mind works.
On train stupendously tired. Making great plans, while simultaneously realising they’re utterly unfeasible and will never happen.
Sometimes that’s a bit worrying. Not necessarily the violence of it all. More the music.
Being suddenly and immensely cheered by the appearance of My Sharona on shuffle. Turning iPod very Up.
The woman opposite is filing her nails with vim and vigour. I’d quite like to puke, i think.
On the train home from more drinks with recently dumped friend. Feeling cross with men. Starting to focus on work still to do.
It is a fairly representative little diary, I think. And I just thought I should put them in one place.
God, it’s a beautiful day. This makes me Very happy. Spring is sprung! It is, right? Spring is sprung?
On a remarkably quiet train. Everyone must be out doin’ some dancin’, romancin’ etc. Soppy Bastards.
8:16 PM February 14, 2007 from txt
Woman on train has so far managed to make Double Decker last 16 minutes. Freakishly small mouth? Ritual? Not even good fucking choccie bar. …
Coming in on the early shift is utterly inhumane. I had quite forgotten.
Realising quite how affected my language is by the books I have been reading. Currently: Pursuit of Love by Nancy Mitford: See last twitter.
I think even if I didn’t have twitter anymore, I’d use a diary to record just these thoughts. Just these.
…And then half an hour sat next to a city gent with a can of stella, taking great pleasure in a bag of nuts, loudly. Monkeynutting bastard.
On train. Bad mood not abating. Now in bad mood With bad mood for not abating.
On world’s stinkiest train. When did having a couple of cans of high strength lager on the train become cool, exactly?
The Girl Is Mine has just popped up on shuffle. Fighting back giggles and trying to remember why it is on ipod, as ever.
No dentist appointments or anything.
Just the fact that someone blew their nose on the 8.42, and it it pissed me reet off. Or…
Realising my bag is almost entirely full of used and wet tissues. Niiiiice…
Sitting on a very quiet train, listening to ben folds five on the headphones of a guy three seats away. Could be worse…
On way into work, listening to very loud woman commentating on every single guardian story in today’s paper for her family. Thank you, Ma’am…
See?
I would, you know, I would keep them in a diary.
On train home after work, well no, let’s face it, pub. Gossiping about work. Liking that i have nothing to file by morning tonight…
On the train, listening to world’s most inane mother and daughter team talking about Westlife. Held up by ’small object on line’ …
… Dogs on the line, indeed. Whatever happened to the good old ‘running things over’ ethic that made this country great?
On the train in a decidedly silly mood. I think this may be a good day.
And keeping them in a diary could prove a lovely point.
That paper can be pointless too. Just as pointless as the internet. If not more.
But not quite as pointless as thirty solid days on a train.
First!
If you spend a lot of time on Twitter, does that make you a Twit, or a Twitterer?
DLC
PS: shim, and albino - just in case nobody answered you at the time. According to Dr Ben, a shim can be improvised from a TV Aerial. He has this on good authority, from a prisoner in one of Dublin’s prisons, who was brought into the emergency room with 27 stab wounds. ‘Don’t you be worrying about me doc - wait until you see what I do to him next week.’
Comment by Damian — 10 July, 2007 7:24 pm
I enjoyed this post very much, it made me smile! If I was you though I’d be on the look out for men in white coats, if you see them run like fuck! Some of the comments were too random to come from a sane mind, I should know!!
Comment by chopski — 10 July, 2007 7:42 pm
Thirty days on a train - sounds like a good name for a movie.
At least you do something useful on your commute. I used to try to sleep on my 90 minute bus ride, but it didn’t work. It was just plain old wasted time.
I did my long commute for 6 years - so my dog and my partner (and I) could live in the country. Then the dog died and we broke up. I moved closer to work and now I ride my bike. I miss the country, but not that much.
Thanks for introducing me to Twitter - I’d heard of it but didn’t understand it until now. Every day I learn more uses for texting - but I’m a Luddite and refuse to give in.
Comment by Myra — 10 July, 2007 7:46 pm
i love this. It should be a book.
Comment by janine — 10 July, 2007 8:46 pm
Fuck off! The Double Decker is one of the kings of the chocolate bar world!
Comment by Dan — 10 July, 2007 8:56 pm
You could move to Hassocks and listen to the Swingle Singers. Didn’t know anybody still listened to them, oh sorry blokes. No wireless service to browse the net while on the train?
Comment by joeinvegas — 10 July, 2007 9:07 pm
Best bit: Watching the tiny spider.
Runner-up: the “running things over” ethic.
This post rocks. Can we have more of this sort of thing please?
And yes, I’m with Dan: Double Deckers are awe-inspiring and way better than Mars bars. Now if my compatriots had seen fit to invent the deep-fried Double Decker I might almost be tempted……
Comment by Rob — 10 July, 2007 9:25 pm
Anna it is not acceptable behaviour to run over a dog to get to work on time. No it isn’t.
No it isn’t no it isn’t noitisn’tnoitisn’tshutupshutUP.
I think I might sign up to Twitter you know.
Comment by Katy Newton — 10 July, 2007 9:25 pm
PS I know you don’t REALLY advocate running dogs over to get to work on time.
Comment by Katy Newton — 10 July, 2007 9:36 pm
I bloody do.
Comment by anna — 10 July, 2007 9:38 pm
No you don’t.
Comment by Katy Newton — 10 July, 2007 9:57 pm
Wow, that is actually quite cool. I think I’ll sign myself up at long last, although not using public transport and not being allowed to text whilst driving will rather limit the scope of my own twitters :(
Comment by Ignorminious — 10 July, 2007 10:12 pm
More you say? Ok. I can do more shorty shorty things. This was my plan anyway, to bring some of the miniblogging back from twitter and on to the blog.
Janine - book, schmook, I have a much better idea, to be explained in the next in the series of ‘My Commuting Hell: Commuters WERE My Hell - by Anna Pickard’
Hm. That’s not a bad title…
Comment by anna — 10 July, 2007 11:59 pm
A shiv (from the Romany word chiv) is a slang term for a sharp or pointed implement used as an improvised knife-like weapon. The shiv is the favored weapon of inmates in prisons across the globe. It’s famous for its versatility - a shiv can be anything from a glass shard with cloth wrapped around one end to form a handle, to a razorblade stuck in the end of a toothbrush, to a sharpened spoon.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shiv_(weapon)
Is living in Brighton worth the 30 days of train?
Comment by Andria — 11 July, 2007 12:11 am
Andria - it is while there is work to do on the train, while I have the energy and things, and while there is no alternative… because yes. I like the train, but I really Really like Brighton, and the lifestyle, and the sea, and lots of other things.
So yes.
Comment by anna — 11 July, 2007 12:23 am
Quite probably silliest (and, therefore, bestest) post in entire history of internet / moving type / depiction of mammoths on cave walls.
I want this read out at my funeral.
Comment by A Gusher (anon) — 11 July, 2007 6:40 am
Lovely. I like this post.
Fwiw, your twitters were always my favouritest - definitely a cut above the average - when I did twittering.
Oops sorry everyone who twitters, I’ve just made you feel all competitive and insecure, haven’t I? Well, all the twitterers who think like me, that is. Anyway. Sorry.
Comment by Clare — 11 July, 2007 9:08 am
Couldn’t resist: or that man on the train who always talks a bit too loud on his mobile phone. Let’s face it, you don’t HAVE to yell for the guy on the other end to hear you, and we certainly don’t want to hear your conversation either…
Comment by Emily — 11 July, 2007 10:03 am
Hope you’ve made it to Lewes properly by now. The Grange is lovely, and if you don’t go on Bonfire Night, you’re missing out on the best bangs since the big one…
Comment by Lazy Perfectionista — 11 July, 2007 2:03 pm
I commute by car (SW of America isn’t well known for its public transport) so I can’t (shouldn’t) twitter while getting to and from places. Just as well though ’cause most of my conversation is very loud and consists of very short words when I’m driving.
Comment by Megan — 11 July, 2007 4:54 pm
Look, this is daft: I don’t even know you yet, having only just found your blog. But now? Now I am going to have to add you to my Twitter because, oh lordy, that application needs some interesting people on there! I am whoopdedoo, should you wonder who the crazy adder is!
Comment by Sarah — 11 July, 2007 8:03 pm
People with no colouring and pink eyes - drunks?
Inspector Morse reference - genius!
Comment by Mr Farty — 12 July, 2007 12:02 am
Nonono, it’s called a shank… and yes an albino.
I have a half hour commute to and from work on the Green Line (B) trolley in Boston. I think it’s best to just keep your i-pod turned up, eyes glued to a book, and ignore that smell. Move along there is nothing to see here.
As a small slice of Little Red Boat that post should be a candidate for your “best of”.
Comment by Brian — 12 July, 2007 7:20 am
I loved this. It made me want to twitter - like I need one more thing to distract me from what I’m supposed to be doing…
Comment by rachie — 12 July, 2007 9:39 am
Ah no, you made me add up mine. 42 days a year. I was happier not knowing I think. But post was very funny. Makes up for the knowing. So - happy to have read post, just annoyed that I can’t resist a sum!
Comment by KT — 12 July, 2007 12:24 pm
Awww, cmon guys!
Double Decker isn’t even Top Five in choclitbarheaven.
1. Twirl
2. Flake
3. Twirl
4. Drifter, and
5. Twirl
OK?
Good; let that be an end to this!
Comment by Brennig — 12 July, 2007 7:52 pm
Brennig- surely you mean
1. Ritter Sport Marzipan
2. Plain chocolate Bounty
3. Double Decker
4. Peanut Yorkie
5. Ritter Sport Marzipan
Don’t you?
Damian, Brian, no, it really is a shiv. A shim, meanwhile, is a little strip of metal mechanics use to keep things just the right distance apart. (As seen in Zen And The Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance IIRC.)
That is all.
Comment by Rob — 12 July, 2007 8:24 pm
You make twitter seem so exciting… maybe if I join I too will write brilliant, funny, wistful 140-character thoughts about Life nstuff. Almost definitely.
Thanks for sharing Anna!
And, humph, I want chocolate now. Oh to be in the same country as a bag of maltesers…
Comment by Eloise — 12 July, 2007 9:23 pm
Great post.
If I ever hear someone singing ‘Could It Be Magic’ on the train now it is going to make me wonder if it is you.
Comment by Invader Stu — 12 July, 2007 10:27 pm
Your Twitter seems not to be working at the moment. I used to see them but now it says I should follow you to get updates, but I have clicked on that and it says you are already my friend. WTF ?
Comment by Let's Kill Saturday Night — 12 July, 2007 11:49 pm
Pam - Ahh, you disappeared for a wee while and got caught up in a rather manic clearout of people who didn’t seem to update very much any more. Whereas in fact you were just away. You’re back now.
Comment by anna — 13 July, 2007 10:33 am
Rob,
Thanks for your help.
I’ve thought long and deeply on your suggestions and, after careful consideration, have come up with this significantly improved top five chocolate bars:
1. Twirl
2. Twirl
3. Twirl
4. Drifter, and
5. Twirl
(I’m an egalitarian vegetarian, which explains the lack of dead animals in my choclit choice).
Cheers,
B.
Comment by Brennig — 13 July, 2007 7:53 pm
[...] Misanthropist in Train(ing) - “People seem to be always mithering about Twitter, saying that it is useless, and they can’t see what it is for, and it is not always interesting, or not always useful, or not really world-shattering. To which I say: Hello? Have you met ‘The Internet” [...]
Pingback by Roo Reynolds - What’s Next? » Blog Archive » Links for July 13th — 14 July, 2007 11:52 am
[...] 6. Little Red Boat: Misanthropist In Train(ing) [...]
Pingback by Post of the Week » Blog Archive » Shortlist for week ending Friday 13th Aug 07 — 14 July, 2007 1:59 pm
I don’t Twitter at the moment, or at least not officially, but certainly twitter a lot in my own head. Mine isn’t the train but the bus. The sniffles and snuffles and the GROWN UPS WHO PICK THEIR NOSES are equally annoying.
Comment by the B — 15 July, 2007 3:02 pm
Nice post Anna. Twitter is without doubt the best thing for mundane commutes. A pooled twitter book of commute observations is in order.
Comment by drew b — 15 July, 2007 7:11 pm
30 days in a year is unreal!! Is it really that much? And, like, almost everybody from Stoke Newington lives in Brighton… still, this post has the timeless allure of the open (rail)road, everybody can relate to trains.
And you’ve made me see a use for Twitter - but I just don’t have time for it. I’m too busy updating my Facebook.
Comment by Ms Baroque — 19 July, 2007 10:18 am