A very good thing

It’s fair to say that I’m not the most sociable of commuters, but there’s one moment on every journey when it’s hard to ignore my fellow human beings completely. It is, of course, the moment of boarding, that complex dance of politeness and single-mindedness which forms part of the morning ritual. Again and again we tread the very fine line between appearing chivalrous and standing one’s ground, though Lewes is nothing like I imagine the battleground of Haywards Heath to be or – heaven forbid – East Croydon, where the very possibility of a seat is at stake. But if you’ve become, like I have, attached to the idea of your very own window with unrestricted view, things can get just a little bit tense.

What a relief, then, to be seated and settled, with that window seat, perfect view and even an empty seat beside you. But along with Haywards Heath comes another predicament: whether to appear as normal and unobtrusive as possible, or whether to accentuate one’s bulk and one’s idiosyncrasies? The possibility of that empty seat remaining so all the way to East Croydon is only a faint one, but I engage in fervent hope every time.

I know, of course, that chivalry and normality should be encouraged. But I also know that commuting has never brought out the beautiful or the altruistic in us humans, and what we’d really like is probably a whole carriage to ourselves. Which is why half-term is such a welcome fixture in the calendar. Just now a double seat all the way to London Bridge is not completely out of the question. There are far fewer human beings around, and – from where I’m sitting – that seems, quite simply, like a very good thing.