One of the nice things about using the train instead of a car for the daily commute is you get to read the paper, have a snooze, or occasionally stare wistfully out of the carriage window wondering what you're getting out of being in the ratrace.
As I've been commuting for the best part of three years now, several people have now decided it's ok to strike up a conversation with me. Well no actually, you're distracting from my daily route of reading the news, doing the sudoku and attempting to fill the cryptic crossword with expletives. It's also incredibly un-english to strike up a conversation with a stranger.
Things have gotten far, far worse recently. One chap has gone so far as giving me his work and mobile numbers in an attempt to get me to go out for a drink (jeez, check your gaydar in for a service). Someone else has discovered my love of photography. So now instead of looking forward to my daily commute home from work, I either have the prospect of having another man trying to persuade me to have dinner with him, or am regaled with someone reading me the prices of camera memory cards from the current weeks copy of amateur photographer (yes, it's as boring as it sounds), depending on which train I take home.
Suddenly the thought of a 38 mile commute by bicycle doesn't seem so tough.
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