I have a crazy commute.  No - I don’t have to sidle my way down a jam-packed escalator into a hot and musty tube station, pack myself like a wafer thin sardine into a tube carriage and endure a highly unpleasant rattle of a journey, 20 minutes across the city to some high-rise skyscraper of an office.  No.  My commute is across barren, wind-swept peaks with sheep nibbling at the dry stone walls that are crumbling into the one lane track that is my yellow brick road to work.

I bought a Fiat 500 before I realised quite how far into the dark ages the Cumbrian road network had fallen.  It’s a fabulous car for trying to fit in tiny tiny spaces in jam-packed city streets.  And I love the fact that it looks like a bubble.  As a car for scaling the side of a peak or mountain?  Not so much.  I am still in fear as to how it’s going to negotiate the icy bends in the middle of the deep, dark, Lake District winter.

People from the city envy me.  “Gosh, I am so envious of your commute,” they say.  “Not having to sit in stop start traffic.  Negotiate the London roads.  Work out how crossroads actually work?  My, how I would love to have your commute.”

Really?  Would you?  I mean… sitting on your nice cushy bus or in your nice comfortable taxis?  Cruising the streets at a safe, 10 miles an hour?  What’s the worst that could happen? Get stuck at a red light?  Plough into a lamppost?  Be a few minutes late for work because the 2 mile walk was too arduous?

I’m not belittleing the stress of the city.  I can’t sympathise with gridlock traffic or crammed public transport but I have heard they are truly awful.  I haven’t experienced it much myself so can only imagine their all too real horrors. But I get into my car early in the morning and crave to be on a hot, sticky train or a murky, air-conditioned taxi.  It’s always a game with the devil when I hop into my car and negotiate the roads.  Will I hit a sheep?  Will a hay-bale fall off the back of a tractor and dive through my windscreen? Will I be held up by a rickety, old combine harvester who threatens to stop at some random point and impale my car?  

There are days when I fear I will just skid off down a fell and end up in a river.  Days where I fear that a wall will just collapse on my car as I drive past.  Days where I worry about getting lost in a pothole on one of the roads.  Days where I fear a sheep will get stuck in my windscreen wipers.  All highly rational fears that I fear are only a careless corner away.  So think of me next time you’re in your taxi, tube or train.  Spare a thought for the country commuters who fearless tackle the rural inclines of the North.

Yours in-fear-of-Monday-morning-commute,




Hello!  I’m Sophie - lover of coast, country and all things baked and smothered in icing.
Recent university graduate and bumbling my way through the life of an employed editor.