Not on Ma Watch.

8:30am through to 9am and 5:30pm through to 6:30pm. The hours that railways in major cities around the world turn into cramped hellish cubicles filled with devil seat worshipers.

I know, I know. Everyone moans about rush hour. Everyone knows the commute to work is more tiresome than the actual day at work. More sweaty than a work out in the gym. And less seats than the final round of musical chairs. Yet every morning I step through those doors I feel like the train guard has just opened the gates of hell. I step ever so carefully making sure I "mind the gap" but no matter how careful I am I still hold the same fear in my heart as if I'm about to be viciously shoved into a lions cage. I use the word shoved, because rather than stepping over that humongous gap of purgatory, its more like cattle squeezing their way through a farm gate over a cattle grid. Mind not to get your foot stuck it pains like a mother B.

I hate train vultures.

This morning I boarded the 8:24 train from Richmond to Waterloo. I was stood with my rucksack on my back squeezed in-between the back few seats. Trying to be extra careful not to hit anyone around the face I made sure I stood perfectly still. As perfectly still as you can on a high speed commuter train into central London. The woman sat to the right of me made no effort to hide her disgust in the fact I was stood there, occasionally accidentally bumping into the side of her seat. Lucky for her she only had to wait ten minutes until we reached Clapham. She proceeded to stand up about five minutes before the train was about to stop, to let a man out next to her. As she told me four times, I was well aware he was getting off. And then, a vulture appeared.

Yes, 8:36am on a Wednesday morning a scavenging bird appeared. Flying through the top of the carriage she gave me a fright. Not out of surprise from her sudden flight, but from her murderous glare. I was being circled. The woman to the right wanted to let the man out, but not loose her seat. I presumed this other woman was in such a rush in my direction she wanted to get off. Which way should I move to let them off? I'm going to have to do some sort of shuffle dance, slide to right, slide to the left to let them both off.

But NO! No, I was wrong. The vulture was not alighting the train at Clapham. No. She had seen five minutes prior that there was a seat going. So she had pounced. Bearing in mind I was stood next to it. Should it not be mine? Is this not how it works? Closest to the seat wins? That's sort of the ethos of musical chairs. I mean, neither of us were old, neither pregnant, neither invalid, so that rules out all the seat offering rules. She shoved me out the way, and I mean shoved. It was really quite embarrassing. I hope she achieved some kind of joy out of her win. I mean, she couldn't possibly stand the seven more minutes to Waterloo. 

I'm not sour I didn't get a seat. I actually prefer to stand. You can get off the train faster and run for the tube. I was just shocked that this women had to indulge in a vicious adult game of musical chairs in such a manner.

A few years back, a close friend of mine stood in the carriage on the way home and stuck her tummy out. She then proceeded to rub it to see if any gentleman would give her a seat. Safe to say they didn't. You can't just grow a baby bump in-between Clapham and Wimbledon. Credit for creativity when it comes to adult commuter musical chairs. There was no harm in her efforts!