I used to hate all the commuters that walk too fast, on an absolute mission to get nowhere important, that could wait a couple more minutes. Now I’m one of them.
My boyfriend commented to me recently whilst I strode around Morrisons on a Pinot Grigio mission how fast I was walking. I’d thought nothing of it, then realised what London had done to me. I’ve always been the girl with legs too short for my body, now I can walk faster than Andy, a 6 foot 3 rugby player. What’s happened to me?
It’s the same with the trains, everyone sitting there grumpily, absorbed in their own little half an hour of the commuting world. I used to always want to strike up conversation with the faces, because that’s all they seem; faces. But then you look beyond the faces, the book the corporate stern business woman is reading, the rusty wedding ring on the sweaty chubby bloke, Rihanna quietly humming out the headphones of the geeky guy from IT. It’s fascinating.
But now I’m one of them also. I love my half an hour commuting, whether I’m writing, reading Oscar Wilde, playing Angry Birds; it’s time for me. Now I wouldn’t dream of infiltrating another person’s ‘me’ time, escape from the madness of the office, the stress of the home, it really is a time for just … me.
I never thought London would change me, London was always the place to dress up for, to look forward to, to experience new and exciting things. Now it’s just another day at the office.