Part two of the A-Z of commuting, featuring the more difficult and lesser-used letters. You might notice some letters are missing from the alphabet in this post, namely L, N, O and Y. These letters are stupid and gave me no inspo - as this is my blog and my rules  I get to give up and post sans stupid letters. Enjoy!

M is for McFlurry. When it's been a long day, you've missed dinner, your train is delayed and all you want is the comfort of some sugar - why not take a ride home with your mate McFlurry. Fingers crossed the Creme Egg version comes out soon!

P is for phones. Our little sidekicks that come with us everywhere and I honestly don't know how we would survive without. Google maps, Spotify, podcasts - complete essentials. Oh, and the perfect way to avoid eye contact with everyone and anyone.

Q is for Quaker Oats, the porridge which fills my belly for the epic journey I embark on everyday.

R is for replacement bus service. The words no commuter ever wants to read and shudders when they do. I'll always pick walking over getting on a bus, purely because they completely baffle me (buses are not a thing in Dubai) and are horrendously unreliable.

S is for slow walkers. If you are a slow walker and are reading this, I want you to have a long hard look at yourself and pick up that pace. You're in my way and I simply don't have time for your spaced-out stroll. Travelling from A to B has become a game of Super Mario for me and every time I get past another slow walker I get 1-up.

T is for time. Something you become obsessed with when you have a train to catch! I've got the timing so perfect that when I waltz down the stairs to the platform at Weybridge, the train is just pulling up. That's if, of course, I leave exactly at 8.07am. Which, of course, I never do. Perfect timing = running/limping along the road, dodging grannies and children on the pavement and leaping onto the carriage to shatter the silence with my heavy breathing whilst tentatively dabbing at my sweat-tache.

U is for underground, of course! Pretty dreamy in terms of speed, just got to be fine with enduring dusty stale air, cramped conditions or being left in a carriage with no one but that weirdo, frequent strikes and the inevitable amount of dead skin and who knows what else that has been weaved into the ancient fabric of the seats. Yum!

V is for volume. Hair volume that is. Everyday I leave the house happy with a bouncy hair-do and arrive at the office to get in the lift and see a flat, sad affair staring back at me. I don't really know what happens between home and the office, but maybe my hair is representing how I feel by the time my journey is finally over - limp and a little frazzled.

W is for weather. I used to be protected from the rain/hail/wind/snow in my comfy company car on my easy peasy 15 min poodle to work. No longer, I and my beloved backpack is now prepared for all eventualities of weather and fashion has gone well and truly out the window - yay to being an adult!

X is for the x-rated tunes I hear coming from the dodgy looking "youth" on the tube and his crappy headphones, providing the whole carriage with the delights of Fetty Wap and the rest of the crew (of who I know no names of because I am middle aged).

Z is for zzzzzz, i.e. me snoozing most mornings on the train in. I now have no shame and will happily catch some extra z's in front of carriage full of strangers, knowing full well my mouth has been wide open for the duration of the journey.

BRB, got a train or 10 to catch!  

What is Happiness?

Happiness is...

• When your favourite song comes on in 'da club'
• Finding a perfect present that you know they're going to love
• New sheets on a Sunday night
• Making eye contact at the exact right time for that inside joke
• When what you're cooking comes out looking exactly like the picture
• Cry laughing with your best friend
• An hour long catch-up on the phone
• Beating that red light
• Running a 5K before sunrise
• The last 10 seconds before you fall asleep for an afternoon nap
• Finding the top you thought was out of stock everywhere in your size
• Cuddles with your favourite (cat/person)
• When a prayer gets answered
• A good hair day 

"Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life." 

The A-Z to Commuting - Part 1

So it's been a month since I've started commuting to London everyday for work. So far, it's not been as bad as everyone makes out. Yes, it's hot and claustrophobic and a little like Groundhog Day everyday, but so far I favour a long journey on a train & tube over a long journey in the car. I can nap, I can people watch, I can read, I can listen to music (just a bit less singing than in the car, fortunately for the people around me).

What better way to celebrate four weeks of surviving my commute than doing an A-Z of commuting... enjoy!

A is for alarm. That pesky little guy you don't want to snooze too many times or it's bound to be a case of running, sweating excessively and waving bye bye to the 8.22 train.

B is for backpack. As a person who is very passionate about handbags, this was really quite difficult to give into but after 3 weeks of lopsided laptop holding, I converted and I'm secretly quite delighted. My hands are free, my back comfortable and I can use it as a human shield when needed. Hurrah!

C is for coughing. Chesty, tickly, choking on a too quickly sipped latte, there is a constant, delightful chorus of coughing on the train.

D is for delays. Delayed is something that I'm getting used to flashing up on the big screens at Waterloo station most evenings. At first this was frustrating and I felt like "giving someone a piece of my mind". Now it's common practice and I'm numb to it, almost surprised when the dreaded D word doesn't appear and my train pulls into the platform smoothly and on time. £3,300 on a season ticket and your trains never on time? Seems fair to me.

E is for eye contact. Constant voice in my head - *Must not make eye contact. Must not make eye contact.*

F is for first class. A place I have frequented many times in the sky (yay Emirates baby!) but is forbidden fruit when it comes to SouthWest Trains. An entire carriage wasted, in my eyes, whilst the others are jam packed, nose to nose in the remaining carriages. First class is a dreamy land where you get arm rests and free cups of tea. There are days, of course, when I feel the need to sneak in - they'll never check, surely? Don't I look like I belong in first class?! But the goody-two-shoes in me comes out and I resign to my regular position in between the toilets and that mans armpit I've become so familiar with in the last half an hour.

G is for Goodge Street. This is the final destination of my commute in the morning. Though not complete until I'm involved in the final squish of bodies which are transported in a lift far older than I care to think about to street level and I am finally released to the 'fresh air' of central London.

H is for headphones. After having my neck nearly pulled from its socket when my trusty iPhone headphone wire got caught in a ladies handbag as she got off the tube (pulling me with her), I decided to go wire free. These Bose headphones are pricey but I convinced myself that they were a must have and so far I haven't been disappointed. The sound quality is incredible, they cancel out the noise of my fellow commuters just enough and they keep my ears warm!

I is for I. Me, me, me!!! I am selfish on my commute; get out of my way, that's my seat, don't think you can share that arm rest with me, don't you dare even move slightly to the left of the escalator I am huffing and puffing up. Grrrr.

J is for joy. The joy that I get when I throw my breakfast banana into the rubbish bin of Platform 2 Weybridge station and think to myself,  "I really am getting my monies worth." (Think you might be starting to learn that with me, it's the little things in life).

K is for kissing. Something that for some absolutely bizarre reason, I have unfortunately had to witness far too much on the train and tube. Why. WHY? A soppy goodbye kiss on the platform, a peck on the forehead of tall boyfriend to short girlfriend, a passionate exchange on the seats opposite mine whilst our knees almost touch. Please bare with me whilst I quietly throw up my pre-train banana.

Just call me Marie

Most people who meet me would describe me as organised (correct) and therefore assume that I am tidy (incorrect).

My room mostly displays the stunning 'floordrobe' that can mostly be found in the humble abodes of teenagers. Cups of tea enter my room, shaking in their porcelin boots that they will never re-emerge.   Hair shed in front of my dresser provides an extra layer to the cream carpet and my bed is only made when I'm in it.

However, during the Christmas holidays I purchased the much hyped book 'The Life Changing Magic of Tidying' by Marie Kondo. This book has been reviewed by many bloggers and YouTubers, some claiming it is a life changer and others that it is a pile of rubbish (ironically). I decided to take it with a pinch of salt, knowing that my life is not really comparable to that of an OCD Japanese lady who lives in a box like flat and has committed her life to thanking her material objects that 'work so hard' for her and to putting away the entire contents of her handbag every evening.

However, reading the book did inspire me to have a mass clear out over Christmas resulting in many bags of clothes, books and other junk going to the charity shop. Love a good charity shop drop off. I had been feeling quite overwhelmed at the amount of clothes I had and the fact that if all clean, there was no way they were all fitting in my wardrobe. Never a good thing when your wash basket becomes storage! Anyway, after a big clear out where I decided whether each item 'sparked joy' or was something I was keen to wear again, I reorganised the storage of my clothes.

Rolling - who knew this was a thing. Rolling your clothes and then standing them all up so you can have a birds eye view means no more messing up of piles when looking for that one top you have to wear. Marie also recommends folding your knickers and my socks, which I took on board much to the amusement of my very sceptical Mum. Mum, if you're reading - I've kept it up! Marie claims that rolling your socks into balls causes them 'unnecessary stress' and wears out the elastic, limited their little sock lives. I quite frankly think this is a load of "ballocks" (hehe) but there is something quite satisfying with pairing and folding your sock buddies and standing them all to attention in the drawer.

You've probably read the majority of this post thinking, wow - this girl needs to get out a bit more. And you're probably right. But I'd say that so far, it has been ever so slightly life changing! I've adopted the method of tidying for 20 minutes a day (I actually set up a timer)  and it just means that things don't get to the extreme disastrous state that they used to. I still need to do the weekend Mary Poppins act of an extreme tidy/clean but during the week I am getting by with 20 minutes a day to avoid max floordrobe and an over flowing wash basket.

So, thanks Marie for your wise words. I won't be thanking my shoes for their hardwork any time soon but hopefully I am on the road to being just that little bit less of a teenager. 

Don't you worry 'bout a thing

We all worry, but I believe I worry enough for a small lesser economically developed country. I'm working myself up from an LEDC to an MEDC in fact. However, as I grow older (and older and older) I am starting to realise that worrying really isn't something I should be spending so much of my time doing.

I worry if I'm going to be too early, or too late. I worry that I've left my straighteners on; even though I have never done this before and even if I did... they can turn themselves off. I worry that people around me are having a good time and when they appear to be enjoying themselves I worry that I'm not having as much fun as they are and that there must be something wrong with me. I worry, about worrying.

If you're reading this - hello - I have finally let this little blog known to other human beings. I worried for quite a while about the way the blog looked, how people would react to it, would they think I was a weirdo for writing about nothing and expecting people to potentially maybe take something from it?

When I posted the link last week on my Facebook page (to a bunch of people that I haven't spoken IRL to for years/colleagues/best friends/and those I just keep for stalking purposes - you know you all have them) it was quite a relief to finally hit 'send' on the post and see that I wasn't drowned in negativity. My 'friends' were lovely, encouraging and intrigued - which was very gratefully received from my end. I'm sure there were those who rolled their eyes, oh here we go another "blogger" in the making let me click on the link so I can have a laugh at some bad grammar and cringey 'OOTD' posts - but that's okay with me.

So, here's a post for me to look back on when I find myself drowning in a pool of classic worry wart. Start using your brain for something a little more productive and remember that there are others out there just like you. Getting things in perspective is so important and already this week I am learning about the beauty of just going for it and throwing yourself into something - that's usually when magic things happen. Contemplating, ooming and ahhing, writing a pros and cons list - it just extends the process of making a decision, usually for no good reason at all. So my advice to myself is to take the plunge - and if you really have to, worry it about it later.