Well, I haven’t blogged since Sunday. This is because travel is a terrible, terrible thing. Now, normally I do my fair share of travelling. I live in Bath at the weekends and work in London, so have a room in a flat there for during the week. I spend 5 hours a week getting between Bath and London and about an hour a day making my way into work on my motorbike.

This week, though, I had to be at our other office, in Newcastle. So I got up at 4.30 on Monday morning, to take a taxi shortly afterwards, to get to Bristol and take the 7.20 flight to Newcastle. I despise short flights. Not that I like longer ones, mind, just that the most uncomfortable parts of a flight for me are those parts where we’re not at steady altitude … so taking off, achieving cruise altitude, descending and then landing. Which when you’re flying to Newcastle is all but the five minutes in the middle where there’s turbulence instead. It was all OK once I got there though.

Unfortunately, when I came back on Tuesday the fog across Britain had caused all the morning planes to be late, so my plane was delayed by two hours, getting me back home to Bath around 10.30pm, rather than the more civilized 8ish that I had planned. In the morning, the prospect of the early 3 hour train ride to the London office proved too much, so I’ve stayed in Bath since, working from home.

All this, along with the BBC whose programming seems to consist entirely of “make money out of property” shows these days, got me to thinking about the whole London thing and how evil it can be. Loads of people want high-paying jobs … which are mainly in London. They also don’t realise that if they get that high-paying job in London and don’t want to spend most of that pay on mortgage or rent, they’re going to need to either a)commute or b)live in a shithole.

Now, I’ve tried option b and it’s not really much fun. At the moment I’m realising that although my room is quite conceivably the cheapest in the whole of Surbiton, the lack of central heating, its position above a Chinese restaurant and the ever-present scaffolding just outside my window (along with the train line in the background 4.30am – 2.30am) combine to make the place pretty horrible to live in.

So now I’m thinking about what I want to do if I do actually end up working in London. Try and buy a flat somewhere? Probably completely out of my price bracket. Rent? More money down the drain, essentially, makes it harder to save and isn’t really something I want to continue doing once I graduate. Which leaves the most likely option — buying somewhere outside of the city and commuting in.

The problem is, I absolutely hate this idea. I don’t want to spend hours every day on a train, or even on my beloved motorbike (Honda Shadow VT600c for those who don’t know) just to get to work and back. I can’t imagine why people would want to.

So I suppose all that remains is to try get a job offer, pin down the starting location and then do my damndest to find somewhere we can a) afford and b) realistically make work and nice and livable. I’m pretty good at DIY and El is brilliant at design stuff, so it’s possible. I just don’t understand how this being the situation for twenty-somethings with high earning potential can be so readily accepted as the status quo.