T H E T U B E

When moving to London from the sticks, the change in travel routine can be a real culture shock. Driving in London, unless it is required for your job, is not only stressful due to the volume of traffic, but quite frankly, frightening. Being behind the wheel when London bikers seem to have a death wish, and white van men evidently enjoy the thrill of cutting people up, is not and probably never will be for me. In sunny old suffolk the roads are long and winding, the majority of the drivers are elderly or have kids on board, so are relaxed and respectful - not frenzied and full of road rage. Back at home driving was therapeutic, a pocket of time to myself where I could play my tunes and sing badly without judgement.

This however is not the case on the rude tube. I think every London newbie feels the absolute awkwardness of the tube before they become true Londoners and grow immune to the commute. These last couple of weeks I have been guilty of stealing a few extra minutes in bed then having to power walk to the station to get to work on time. Once at the station it goes as followed:

• Going down the first escalator you begin to feel the heat.

• On the platform you’re beginning to strip the layers.

• When the doors of the train open, you're pressed against a wall of thirty equally hot bodies looking into the eyes of an old guy - wondering why you even bothered to apply makeup, and hoping he isn't focussing in on the beads of sweat dripping down your forehead. Yum.

When you are on non-rush hour tube, the silent, antisocial nature of sober Londoners permeates the journey. If, like me, you have the worlds most pathetic battery life (on a second hand phone that you curse on a daily basis because your happy, shiny one got stolen) streaming music is a distant memory. Not that I could subject anyone to my uncontrollable need to sing along anyways. Then comes the problem of fitting a book into your already jam packed handbag – long story short, makeup and food takes precedence - soz literature degree. The only amusing this left to do is people watch, which leads me onto my next point. Awkward eye contact. The worst! Once you've caught someones eye it's like an uncontrollable reflex to keep looking back. And then it happens again and again, like when you accidentally looked at that guys crotch in the tight trousers, and then have to look again to check if you saw correctly. By the end of the journey the unfortunate other either thinks you fancy them, or are a complete weirdo. Little do they know...

Another thing that is difficult to call is dealing with old people on the tube. How old is old enough to deserve a priority seat, and how young is young enough to be insulted by the offer. You see the dilemma. Although the one thing that really irks me is when a woman is obviously pregnant (wearing the baby on board badge to prevent any awkward presumptions there), and no one offers them a seat. The other day I looked up from the floor where I was avoiding eye contact, to see a heavily pregnant woman having to stand up on a rammed tube. I was annoyed with myself for not spotting her earlier and offering my seat sooner. Regardless, when I did offer, she looked at me in such surprise and gratitude that I can only assume it was a rare occurrence. As we traded places I caught the eyes of other surprised passengers and emanated silent judgement for their dog-eat-dog ways.

Come on London, where's the compassion? Why not lend a hand to the person struggling down the stairs with their suitcase, offer the OAP or Pregnant lady your seat, or smile to dispel the awkwardness of awkward eye contact.

More to follow!