A Love Letter to Public Transport

Lazy Bristol Days

A fun fact about me, I can't drive. In fact I've never even entertained the thrill of sitting behind the wheel or experienced other adventures such as putting petrol in a car. Far from this being any conscious decision it has mainly been due to life events up to this point. Or at least that's what I tell people.

In fact, not being able to drive was a conscious decision. At the tender age of 17 years old the world was my financial oyster, I was living at home and working long hours at a hardware store getting double and triple time of disposable teenage income. During this time my mother in her infinite wisdom informed me that now was the time to learn to drive before life and money took over. Being a brazen teen I informed her that I'd much rather spend my hard earned cash clubbing and buying new Quicksilver clothes. Little did I know how much my addiction to Swansea's nightlife and expensive surf wear would alter my life.

Of course she was right, I could never have predicted that I'd spend 7 years at University and leave owing literally everybody loads of money. When I graduated I could just about afford to buy myself a loaf of bread let alone intensive driving lessons.

In a second twist of fate my first two heady years of proper income were spent in Australia meaning that unless I wanted to spend my beach or cafe time attempting how to parallel park a UTE there really was no point.

So that brings me to modern day, sitting on a Cross Country train to Cardiff contemplating my love affair with public transport. I think about myself as a driver and it slightly scares me. Having an addiction to packing an overnight bag and darting off around the country at a moments notice I fear owning a car would turn me into some kind of travel monster, making my modest carbon footprint resemble that of Bigfoot.

Plane vs train

The funny thing about not being able to drive is that you do get savvy with public transport (I'll save missed international flight anecdotes for another day). The train is my new British addiction, I love the freedom of being able to select a part of Britain and whimsically go there in a few hours. I also love the novelty and social order of the train. Don't sit in someone else's reserved seat for fear of public humiliation, always lock the sliding door on the toilet (for fear of carriage-wide humiliation) and if the drinks cart comes around you will be the only one not ordering a can of Stella, even if it is 9am.

I love seeing bits of the countryside that you wouldn't see from a car, looking at people's shiny luggage and wondering where they are going, eavesdropping on their lives just for a few hours before you go your separate ways. I even love the terrible food, my latest addiction being the semi-decent ham and emmental croissants at Nottingham station washed down with a heart starter coffee that makes listen to The Prodigy for 3 hours on my iPod at maximum volume. I love the polite conversation with strangers, usually about the disappointing efficiency or lack of available seats. I love taking the time to absorb a new album or tuck into the Guardian weekend that weighs more than my luggage.

A lesson in how to make a croissant more unhealthy

So my tastes have changed since I was that brazen 17 year old, I suppose I could not drink that Friday night cocktail, take that trip to France or boycott those gorgeous new Monsoon trousers. I'm sure i'll get around to learning to drive..someday.

Oh the drinks cart is coming around again. I wonder if I have enough for a Stella.

Arrival at Cardiff Central, right on time