Emma is currently...

  • Addicted to: Fruit and nut mix
  • Listening to: Band of Joy - Robert Plant
  • Reading: Naples '44 - Norman Lewis

Tuesday, 10 August 2010


I have become your typical grumpy commuter.

I thought I would never be one of them - sitting on the train in deathly silence, jammed between a briefcase and a laptop, tactically avoiding the soulless gaze of the empty suit sitting opposite me. However, I have now decided that I like commuters. They know where they're going, they get there as quickly as possible, and most importantly, they know when to shut up and not annoy other people.

When I'm on a late shift, I don't get to travel to London with the lovely quiet commuters. I get to travel with the tourists and the people having a nice day out. Argh.

Firstly, the tourists. I know that, when I'm on holiday, I don't like to feel like a tourist, and I don't like the locals treating me like an idiot, so this is a very hypocritical rant. But honestly. In Victoria there are crowds and crowds of gormless suitcase-wheeling idiots who amble along in an aimless manner, stopping randomly in the middle of the pavement to gawp at things, so that I constantly crash into them. They don't understand that you have to press the button to open the doors of the train, and they stand at the side of the road waiting for the green man when there are clearly no cars (I find that one rather sweet, actually. They all stare at me in horror when I plough my way through the horde and stride across the road like a seasoned Londoner, probably thinking, 'She must have a death wish! She's crazy! Crazy! The man is red!'). I know that it's the tourists who are paying my wages. But still... Do they have to be so annoying when I'm late for work?

And then there's the Saturday and Sunday crowd. The other day, when I was coming home on a late at about 8.30, I had to sit and listen to their stupid, inane conversations. They don't seem to realise that no one else in the carriage wants to listen to their worthless speculations about whether they should have turquoise or pink towels in their bathroom. First I was sat next to two thirty-something women and had to listen to this: "Yeah, so my bathroom is totally lush. It's all brown tiles and floor, so, so lush, just totally lush... I was going to get some lush vanilla candles in there and make it all chocolate indulgence in my bathroom, you know, totally gorgeous." I couldn't put up with it any longer, so I moved to a quiet carriage where I could read Gulliver's Travels in peace. But then, a bunch on teenagers (I can offically talk about teenagers in a disdainful, patronising tone now I'm twenty) got on and I had to listen to this: "Yeah, I hate Saffron, everyone totally hates her, she's such a slag, she slept with Jenny's boyfriend... Did you know that she's preggers now? Yeah, she doesn't know who the father is, she should go on the Jeremy Kyle show and get a free DNA test, right? LOL!"

Gaarrggghhhhhhh. I have become so grumpy. Also, what kind of name is Saffron? Did her parents think it sounded vaguely posh? Do they even know what Saffron is? Is her brother called caviar?

Okay, rant over. Sorry.

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