The route that inspired me to write this post isn't known for being particularly scenic itself. I was treating myself to a day's shopping in Reading as the end of my sabbatical drew nearer, so I was travelling along a commuter route from one industrialised town centre to another. But along the way, I found myself thinking about public transport, and the part it plays in the slower, less hectic lifestyle I'm trying to carve out for myself.
It's definitely greener to take public transport than use a car, which is lucky for me as plenty of driving lessons have proved fruitless in me actually getting any better at driving. Mr Book Fox does have a car, and I'm sure once he's qualified we will be merrily taking ourselves on day trips and revelling in the freedom of it, because green though it may be, public transport can't take you everywhere. Notably, it rarely extends as far as the gates of National Trust places we'd like to visit (and/or seek employment!)
For now, after living in our apartment for a couple of years, we are public transport experts. We know the best tricks for cheap tickets, when the buses run on time and when they're spectacularly offbeat, which drivers are the friendliest, and exactly how many minutes it takes to dash from the bus stop to the train platform with time to spare for a coffee.
Trains leave for Reading quite regularly from my local station, so on this occasion I set off from my apartment with no particular bus or train in mind. This is a practice I've developed since moving to a busy town with buses bearing little relation to the timetable and trains constantly beset with delays, strikes, and overcrowding.
Whenever I am in charge of my own schedule, I have abandoned planning around a particular train and instead simply set off when I'm ready.
I used to be in a constant panic to catch whichever train I had chosen as the best, most efficient option, an anxiety which I ascribe to my father's love of efficiency and being absurdly early at all times. The problem is that this often resulted in missing the train, because of the aforementioned strikes, delays, poor weather, you name it. Some days it really is impossible to be on time!
En route to work, this means a quick phone call to apologise for the state of the railways, but on days off I found myself wondering what exactly I was worrying about. How can one be late for one's own leisure time?
Letting go of the need to catch a specific train has made day trips a lot more relaxed for me (and for Mr B. who no longer has to handle me spiralling rapidly into an anxiety meltdown).
On my shopping day, I surveyed the possible options and determined that I'd rather wait twenty minutes for a cheaper train than dash for the first one available. This meant I had time (and spare money in the budget!) for a leisurely detour to get a cappuccino for the journey. And a cinnamon bun, because my breakfast never lasts longer than half an hour before I'm hungry again.
When I got to the platform I found an earlier train still idling at the platform, so I hopped on, congratulating myself on achieving efficiency and baked goods. But I gradually realised that this wasn't a delayed train, but rather a very early later one - which wasn't leaving for another half an hour.
I had two options: stay on the slower, later, almost-empty train where I sat comfortable with my iced bun and cappuccino, or hop off and catch one that would get me there a lot faster. The faster train was an express service, and I know from experience that despite the quicker arrival, it's hard to get a seat and the carriages often have an odour of train loos and old sandwiches.
For me, it was an easy choice.
It's important to make the most of our time, especially those precious days when we're free to do as we please. But there's no way I would feel I'd spent my time well if some of it was spent enduring a crowded, noisy, and smelly train. I'd always rather prioritise my enjoyment of a journey over the speed at which it's made.
It's easy to see public transport as an annoying, unreliable fact of life that gets us from A to B, but it doesn't have to be. At least when our time is our own, it can be part of the experience. Perhaps some would call it a waste of time, but I got to spend half an hour with six seats to myself, enjoying a coffee whilst surveying the stark, flooded winter landscape out of the window. Taking the long way round turned out to be the scenic route after all.
Steph
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