Public Transport, what the statistics can't show!

As you take a deep breath and force a half hearted sigh of relief that the curriculum year is over, you know full well that the ordeal is not over yet. As you stare at your cargo, enough to sink a battleship to be exact, your muscles begin to spasm at the mental image of your body enduring endless delays and hours spent in previously unbeknown towns to you.

This is the first thought, then there is the endlessly wining children, distressed over nothing in particular but enjoying making everyone else’s trip around them more miserable than their own. However, they are not alone in this department as unsuccessful businessmen try to inflate their egos by announcing their telephone conversation to everyone is in the carriage, like a tanoi system, while normal citizens role their eyes safe in the knowledge that the human foghorn can be of little importance to his company as he is using public transport like the rest of us low grade cattle. But the final, insult which strikes fear in every traveler’s heart is the dreaded twitcher. He or she is usually void of outside human conversation in their daily lives and so uses the confined constraints of the carriage to entrap you into hours of endless, mind numbing conversations from the weather, to the youth of day (a particular favourite of the older twitcher), to the oncoming apocalypse; which you can only hope that their predicted alien invasion happens much, much sooner than they predict.

However, I have found the key to preventing yourself from sitting next the boundless number of annoying twitchers which plague the frequent traveler. Firstly your attire must be suited to the journey ahead, a perfect choice being heavy black eye makeup, unusually sized hat, leather jacket and aggressive body language.

In essence you need to look like at any moment it is quite possible that you will whip and AK-47 out of your delicately packed rucksack and taking no prisoners let a massacre ensue. This stated there is always one lonely masochistic twitcher, who is quite willing to place their life in danger all for the cause of conversation. Politely ending your, so far, peacefully journey by asking, “Is anyone sitting here?” To which you fight through gritted teeth to snarl at them and instead smile sweetly, “No, hang on I’ll move all my stuff”.

And by the time you get to your loved ones to enjoy in the Christmas cheer, all you want to do is find a quiet corner of your centrally heated house and stare vacantly into the bottom of an empty bottle of chardonnay. And to think you spent most of your monthly cigarette, alcohol and food allowance for the pleasure.