The Daily Cattle Drive

For those Londoners who endure the daily commute into the capital in order to get to work, you know how stressful and challenging it can be. Sadly (or happily) I am no longer one of the millions who attempt to arrive at their place of work with their minds and dignity fully intact. This is due to the fact that I’m, at present, unemployed. Obviously not being in full time employment has its own downfalls, ie: lack of a decent income, but I can say truthfully, hand on heart, that I in no way miss my daily journey to and from work. Can you blame me?

Living on the north-west outskirts of London means that getting into the city has always been a trek. I remember staggering out of my house at an ungodly hour of the morning in a vain attempt to miss the masses of commuters on their way to work but alas, it was not to be. I’d often wind up on the tube, wedged between someone with smelly armpits, and someone else who happened to be bringing an overnight bag feigning as a rucksack into work, which would whack me round the head every time they turned round. And then there was the ongoing battle to find a seat. As soon as someone seated got up, you could feel a sense of savage competitiveness fill the air as everyone within a five foot radius eyed and circled the seat as if it was prey ready to be devoured.

It was the survival of the fittest in its most natural environment; the London Underground. If you couldn’t think fast, duck, dive, leap and outwit the other commuters then you’d be outmanoeuvred. Good manners and civility go out the window when you’re barging through a large crowd trying to get on a packed train that’s already 20 minutes behind schedule. And my God, people are cold-blooded. I once saw a man step over a woman who had fallen on the platform so that he could reach his train. You should have seen the blank expression of utter indifference on his face as he stepped over her as if she was a simply a piece of rubbish that had been a minor inconvenience.

But hey, it ties in with the evolution of the species. The strongest commuters will arrive at work on time, not a hair out of place, ready for their first big challenge of the morning, while the vanquished will stumble into the office 20 minutes late, out of breath and looking like they were dragged through a hedge backwards. And which species of commuter did I once belong to I hear you ask? Ah now, well that would be telling. One thing’s for certain, it’s so much better to be a spectator than a contender.

Image by J-Cornelius courtesy of Flickr