Etiquette.

Since moving to Leeds, I have spent more time on trains/waiting for trains/booking train tickets than I have in my whole life.

A driver from the age of 17, I've always been more comfortable with roads than rails. Now I find myself separated from my beloved little car, I haven't got much choice but to embrace it.

I sat and worked out that thus far, I have spent an astonishing 22.5 hours of my Leeds life on trains. 

That's almost a whole day!

So I've become somewhat of an expert in train travel etiquette.

On the odd occasion when I manage not to fall asleep the second we pull out of the station, I like to sit and observe my fellow passengers.

Does that sound creepy? It's not meant to. Honest.

Anyway... It's kind of protocol now that you receive allocated seating with your tickets. You can request to be near the loos or have a window seat, but you very rarely get what you ask for.

I've spent 2 months requesting forward facing seats... I've now travelled backwards so many times,  it no longer makes me nauseous.

So you always end up sat next to a stranger. I like to be polite and say hello before I plonk myself down, to this, you get mixed responses.

Some people reply to your greeting with gusto, (like the bearded gentleman sat to my right at this very moment). 

Others are not so welcoming. Some smell, some give you the once over as if assessing whether you're good enough to sit with them. 

Some stuck their headphones in and stare through you, others try and engage you in conversation... The list is endless.

The one thing I have ascertained however, is that no matter how much you're struggling with your bag, people on trains will very rarely offer you any help.

It's almost like a game I genuinely have to psyche myself up to play before boarding the train.

I get my seat number and carriage playing on repeat in my head, run for the relevant door, patiently wait while other passengers disembark then make my move for the luggage rail.

My lack of a washing machine in my flat means I have to cart all of my washing home to my mother at weekends (yes, she loves me for it I'm sure). So my case is often overpacked, bulging and HEAVY.

Today is no different, travelling back after a fortnights interim, I have substantially more washing than usual, so I lost dismally at my luggage rack game.

Clocking how full it was when I boarded, I thought I'd try my luck with the overhead storage above my seat (epic fail).

So I did the walk of shame back down the carriage to the packed luggage rack and found a spot for my case... Right on the top shelf.

I'm not the tallest of girls but my weedy little arms just reach the top rail. When I'm laden with a heavy case however, I manage this with considerable difficulty.

Not one person offered to help.

After struggling with 4 or 5 feeble attempts to wedge my case into the Tetris pile of bags, eventually, a hand reached out from behind me and provided the last vital shove I needed to secure my little spot.

I beamed at the man behind me and thanked him for his help as I ran off back to my seat next to the bearded man.

He looked confused though... Not entirely sure it was he who helped.

Oh well!

Homeward bound again.

L x

Permanence.

So last week I went off on a little tangent and ranted about a digger who had moved onto the patch of wasteland, directly outside my flat window.

Sadly I can report that the bugger is there to stay, and he's brought some friends along.

Scoop, muck and dizzy... Roly too...

Yes, Bob the Builder has moved in next door to start work on a shiny new skyscraper. Oh the joys.

They haven't given me too much hassle thus far, and I even stayed in Leeds over the weekend all on my own to go to York races with some colleagues.

I'm getting so brave.

If you can excuse the horrific cliche, it's been a bit of a rollercoaster so far. This whole thing came about in such insane circumstances, I still sometimes catch myself disbelieving I've actually done it.

After a particularly nasty, heart wrenching break up, I ditched my country pub job I loved, in favour of a fresh start at a new pub closer to home (in Newcastle) which incidentally, I ended up hating.

After a particularly awful shift, I kind of lost the plot and applied for about 20 jobs across the country.

One got back to me.

After a written assessment, email correspondence and a nerve-wracking interview, I landed my job in Leeds and moved my whole life 110 miles down the A1.

The whole thing was quite whimsical and half-baked really. Some would say "spontaneous"... Personally I think I was just having a not-quite-quarter-life-crisis.

Despite the challenges I've faced being away from home, I've really learned to stand on my own two feet here, so I can't honestly say I regret a second of it.

However, when I took the job, in my head (because it was a short term contract for an internship), there was no finality or permanence in my move here.

But now it's looking like I could be here to stay.

Although the company hasn't exactly thrown contracts at me and begged me to sign, it's looking pretty likely that there will be a full time position available to me at the end of my internship if I want it.

Of course, there is time yet to make a decision but wow... Even having the option has completely blown my mind!

I'm just thinking out loud here really... 

L x