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As well as being busy selling my house over these last few weeks I have also been trying to find myself a new job. I was standing on the platform at my local station yesterday in the afternoon sun thinking to myself that I actually quite missed the routine of getting up and going to work, and, dare I say it, even the journey to London by train. There is something quite comforting about seeing the same faces in the carriage each morning, the same 'leaves on the line', and the same array of daft excuses as to why we simply cannot run a railway service on time. The Swiss can run railways up thousands of feet of mountain, in sub zero temperatures through howling gales, and their trains will arrive within thirty seconds of when they were meant to. They do not have 'staff shortages', 'signal failures', 'frozen points', 'a shortage of rolling stock', or 'congestion in the London Bridge area'. But we love it all really don't we, it wouldn't be England without it!

Whilst waiting for my train to arrive Southeastern were doing some photography of one of their members of staff. She was of course the prettiest station assistant that you have ever seen, all smartly dressed and looking cheerful. Maybe she will appear in the next edition of their newsletter? No doubt the pages of the newsletter will announce some radical new iniative, unheard of in the days of British Rail. 'Starting 1st December Southeastern will be running some trains with wheels!' These will be trial services, whilst we assess our wheels and iron out any problems!' Wow, trains with wheels, I shall look forward to seeing those!

Anyway, after my job interview (nice chap, hope I get the job), I started my journey home. I was pleased to see my train was already at the platform at Charing Cross, as it was a bit chilly and I hadn't got out my winter interview clothes so was dressed more for a balmy day in August than a dark November night. I found a seat by the window, facing the right direction (never like to sit going the wrong way), and started to read my newspaper (Evening Standard – it's free now too!)

A few minutes later as I was busy reading about Elton John's plumbing problems I was jolted back to reality by a man sitting down next to me. Those of you who travel by train frequently will know the sort. He sat down like a tonne of potatoes, so heavy that I am sure I even jumped a little in the air as he did so. I mean why do people have to do that? Are they so lazy that they can't sit down more gently? So then he gets out his paper, jabbing me in the chest in the process. But he doesn't seem to read any of it. He just snatches at the pages to turn them over and then flicks them with his finger tips to push them down a little bit, making the most irritating noise you can imagine. Either he reads at five thousand words per second, or he doesn't read at all.

By now the train is quite full and getting rather warm. It becomes evident at this point that my travelling companion did not bother to put on any deodorant this morning, and a pungent smell from his armpits begins to invade the rest of the carriage. This combined with some early evening dog breath starts to make things really quite unpleasant.

I realise now what it was that I didn't like about commuting. You don't have any control over anything. You can't control when you leave or when you arrive. You can't adjust the temperature or the music or who is sitting next you or change your route if there is a problem ahead. You don't have information about anything and you are entirely dependent on other people to do what they are meant to do. You are powerless! Eventually I get back to my station, fight my way out to the car park and by the time I get to my car I am ready for a fight with Mike Tyson.

Thank heavens I am not doing that tomorrow I think to myself!

By Samantha May