26/3/2008

The Mouthpiece

Grinding to a sudden halt

BEFORE next week’s four-day South West Trains strike commences and I am trapped in the endless purgatory somewhere between Surrey and London, I thought I would take this opportunity to discuss the joys and horrors of the cross-county commute.

Whenever I tell people that I live in Chiswick and work in Guildford, a sharp intake of breath is swiftly followed by the inevitable question - "How do you do it?".

Having never owned a car, I have become accustomed to the intricate corners and musky charms of England’s railway stations, and have slowly become immune to the constant delays and questionable refreshments that go along with rail travel.

The majority of vehicularly-challenged workers head into the city and retreat to the counties, not the other way round, and two months of this ‘backwards commute’ have taught me three things.

Firstly, I have rediscovered the ancient art of reading.

Having buried myself in technology almost to the point of obsessiveness over the past three years, I had almost forgotten that once upon a time, words were printed on paper that you could hold in your hand, without a hyperlink or comments page in sight.

I am currently devouring Sarah Turnbull’s Almost French, a charming true-life story of an Australian journalist who took a trip to Paris and never left.

She probably got stuck on the city’s insane Metro system, but that’s another story for another blog.

Secondly, I have learnt the value of giving new albums the attention they deserve.

Every week, I load my trusty iPod nano with my latest musical acquisitions, and within a few days I know every note of every song.

Current favourites include the new Elbow album The Seldom Seen Kid and the classic lo-fi debut from The Moldy Peaches, who are experiencing a soar in popularity thanks to the hit movie Juno.

Finally, commuting is a great way to catch up on the latest celebrity gossip.

Through the irrepressible freesheets, which appear to breed on station platforms before invading the carriages and preying on their victims, I have learned that Keira Knightley wishes she was fat; Sir Paul McCartney has got more money than sense; and someone called Adele has split up with someone called Slinky Sunbeam.

So farewell for now, and as you roar to work in your air-conditioned automobiles next week, spare a thought for the real victims of the train drivers’ strike, soggy and freezing in the barren wasteland of Clapham Junction.

And let me know what Cheryl Cole is up to. You know it makes sense.

Read more of Sam's blogs here.

First printed in: Surrey Advertiser Online