The moment I wake up to church bells emanating from my iPhone, to the moment I peer back at the same clock come half-five, commuting infests my mind like food at lunchtime or racism at a football game.
No one likes the commute in either direction, but it is a necessary evil amongst all the wonderful things our day usually brings. To think we have to pay for the privilege is truly the biggest kick in the face any reasonable government could ever inflict upon us.
In these austere times the top-brass think it only sensible to raise the TFL fares to unfriendly proportions, causing us to wrestle with the idea that maybe, just maybe, we should cycle… or move closer to work… or, God-forbid, walk.
Despite trying to sew up our pockets to stop our salary cascading out on to the train floor, it seems it’s being fiendishly unpicked. With fare rates on the way up, the unfair increase could reach an earth shattering 11 percent this year alone. Boris Johnson blubbers it’s needed for transport upgrades and Ken Livingston, pining for power, promises to upgrade while also cutting travel costs significantly. Someone’s lying. While Cameron and Miliband have been fighting it out at Westminster over who really cares about the commuter enough to actually help them, besides just saying it out loud.
Broken escalators, limited gate access and leaking station roofs suggest that despite all the rhetoric perhaps that money is not getting through. And we need to see the improvements if we are to absorb this right hook on the wallet.
Still, we have those 7 new Boris buses to look forward to, despite their teething problems.
With their bright red paint and open-backed rear, we have easy access to fall out after we’ve paid our fare… a delightful by-product to reduce the overcrowding on the transport network.
We ride these commuter routes not uttering a sentence to our floor-sharing brothers and sisters; a real-life Facebook if you like. With ‘pokes’ born from shoves and nudges from elbows and knees, our unimpressed bodies de-friend the person immediately. The evil commute is a worryingly similar pastime we all have to tackle and hopefully, despite all its throbbing pain and forced community spirit, we can share a little moment of solidarity together.
Let’s clink overpriced Oyster cards for tomorrow morning.
