First post, first commute, first day. Old nerves

So here it is. My first day commuting into London. My first step into the real world. I finally have a proper job.

As I sit on my train I notice I’m not the only person looking self-conscious, and a little nervous. It’s also the first day back at school. As I tower above the youngsters boarding my train I can’t help but wish we could swap places. I always loved the first day of school; the new uniform complete with the most fashionable regulation black shoes “Clarks” have on offer (I was a big fan of kickers) and a stylish new rucksack, usually with a pencil case to match. The promise of a whole new term, knowing that at the end of it Christmas is waiting, was just too exciting.

But these girls sat chattering away on the train are a little different to how I remember being. For one thing, they seem a lot more stylish with their Links of London bracelets and their carefully chosen hair accessories. But something’s haven’t changed at all, as soon as the parents are out of sight, they start rolling up the waistbands on their skirts, digging their carefully concealed make up bags out, plonking them on the train tables, before lashing on the mascara and the lip-gloss, all the while chattering about boys. But what makes me laugh is that deep down they all know, as my generation did, that they’ll be told to put their skirts back to regulation length and told to wash their faces as soon as they step in the classroom. But that’s no problem, as the same routine will be implemented again at break time and lunch time. After all, what else is there to do?

But alas for me, those days are long gone. But I bet your bottom dollar I still have the same mix of nerves and excitement the girls in front of me are feeling. But at least they have friends with them for support! I’m doing this alone. And the combination of nerves and excitement is creating a horrible feeling of nausea.

This nausea is not being helped by the middle aged woman sat beside me who has whipped out her lurid orange nail polish and is topping up her nails. And while her colour of choice is sickly enough, it’s actually the overpowering smell of pear drops that’s churning my sensitive stomach. 

This has left me in somewhat of a dilemma, do I endure the smell, or open a window and risk appearing at work with windswept hair more resembling a birds nest than a glamorous “just got out of bed look”.

Maybe I’ll just move carriages under the pretence of getting off at the next station…..

Well it’s soon time to depart from this train, so I better have a quick scan of the Metro and be on my way. Good bye school, hello real world. Time for the next step in my education to begin.

Wish me luck!