I’m trying to write this, I really am. I thought I’d have the time. I’ve been in London this weekend, doing a run of the shows at the lovely Soho Theatre.

They have to be commended really, they’ve managed to achieve what HS2 didn’t, they brought a northerner into London! This is levelling up live. They’ll regret it when they see the whippets I’ve released through the West End. It was a pleasure to share some of my negative equity with them.

I took the train down to London. I struggle with the train. It’s a toxic relationship. It treats me like dirt, leaves me emotionally battered, but months later the pain diminishes and I give it another chance, only to have my hope crushed once more. It’s the bad boyfriend who always lets you down.

I’m sat here now, Euston station, Sunday morning. Some people think that God doesn’t exist, well the train companies clearly believe he does. They really don’t want us to travel on sabbath, the ironic thing is the pain they put us through almost makes us turn to prayer.

I’m waiting for the platform to be announced, this is their favourite game. Passengers standing around, in a holding pen, like horses at the grand national. All of us looking at the departures board, like it’s a comet heading to earth. The only difference is, at least the comet arrives.

The information we need is the platform number. So we can prepare ourselves, so we aren’t sprinting with our bags, you think this would be in their interests for health and safety to not create any panic? Nope, they love it. Watching the fear in our faces, as we head into battle, like stock brokers when trading opens on the exchange floor.

We run, with bags, they are waiting, at the barriers, the high vis warriors. The smile of joy when they see us fumbling for our phones and tickets. The QR code never scanning, the phone never fitting over the scanner. We had hours to prepare and now it’s us that look like the morons as angry human traffic builds behind us.

There never been a train journey that I have enjoyed. That’s quite incredible really, I’m 46 now. Waiting at the doors we get on board. It’s now the law that someone is always sat in my reserved seat. That must be something they’ve made happen. They are selling that seat to the highest bidder, it’s an auction on my comfort. The British public seem unable to sit in seats that they have paid for. They prefer instead to act like social terrorists, passing the stress on. Someone was sat in their seat, so now they are sat in mine. How is that my problem?! You deal with it. If someone burgled your house you wouldn’t claim on my house insurance, get out of my seat you tit. This doesn’t happen with anything else. It’s a basic rule of society, you don’t do it on a plane, just walk on and sit in the pilots seat. “Sorry pal, someone is in mine, can I plug my phone into your socket, I’m on two percent here, is this important, do you need this altimeter?

I don’t know how people do it, I think a year of train travel would turn me into a serial killer. I’m only going from Euston to Nuneaton, and I already hate everyone on this stupid planet.

This is why the environment will never be a priority. Not when we have cars. They aren’t just slightly better, they are loads better. It’s not even first class, it’s way beyond that, it’s your class. Compared to train travel it’s not even in the same league. It’s like a mobile spa day. Your own space, your own music, your own seat, your own farts, it’s bliss.

Ten minutes until boarding now. The anxiety is building. I’m probably stood next to the person who will steal my seat. Boarding is in three minutes, they haven’t given us the platform number yet, yes! It’s game on. I think the train driver is gonna swerve at the last minute, it might not arrive in the station, he’s a maverick this guy, I can feel it.

My god I miss my car. However, It’s getting harder to drive in this country. Smart motorways that change the speed limit every time you blink, if you haven’t been on a speed awareness course yet, then you’re either the driver of an ambulance or a child. Although it will only be a matter of time until we see a kid on a zoom, who’s been done for doing 23 in a 20 in a little tykes car.

The joy of being in your own space, in control of your own destiny is something I always take for granted. I sometimes just walk around the station platform to at least feel like I’m moving.

Boarding shortly it says now. Still no platform, I guess I’m just gonna find a train and chance it. I might strap myself to the roof, at least I’ll have a seat.

Some trains have been cancelled. They have still put them on the board though, just to warn us what could happen if we step out of line. The train to Crewe has been cancelled, they have written, “this would have called at” and the destinations underneath. Marvellous, that’s like Jim Bowen on bullseye telling us what we could have won.

I even love my sat nav apps in my car. They help, a friendly voice, it tells you to the minute when you’re gonna arrive, constant information. With trains it’s potluck, you might get there, you might have to switch to a bus though. That’s like Google maps getting me halfway home and then telling me to finish the rest on an e-scooter. My sat nav even tells me where there’s a pothole, or stationary vehicle, or a police speed camera. The train companies prefer to let us exist in this abyss of confusion. Occasionally piping up to tell us a train is cancelled, because of a signalling error, protestors on the line, a rare moment of humility where they are pausing to reflect on how they have treated customers like dirt for years, or there isn’t a driver. that one is fair enough. However some of us are so desperate to get home, just show us the controls and we will have a crack at it. Like someone in a disaster movie who has to step in and fly a plane. It’s a track, I’m sure if we pointed it in right the direction we’d get there. Forget stopping at stations, we will just blast through, there’s no seats available anyway.

Still not boarded. I’m loving these guys, this is one of the best ones they’ve done. Some people are having a quick espresso, some are rubbing cocaine into their gums. The elbows are out and we’re off. It’s platform five, there’s hundreds of us. So obviously they are funnelling us two turnstiles. It’s known as the hourglass method of crowd control, I feel like we’re all being kettled by the riot police. I’ve made a little pocket for myself by running over toes with my massive suitcase. I don’t need it but I’ve filled it with bricks and brought it along, I find it gives me a bit of extra muscle for moments like this.

God I miss my car. We aren’t customers here, we are cattle. If we were French this train would be on fire by now. But we tolerate it, we’re British, don’t speak up, don’t protest, if rolled eyes could make a sound it would be deafening in here. Maybe we can tut this train home instead?

I’ve travelled on the train first class before, I’ve not paid for it obviously and it’s wonderful. It really is. You watch the world go by, whilst eating Indian snacks and drinking sparkling white wine. You watch people getting on the train, struggling with bags, or emerging from standard class, looking like they’ve come back from Vietnam. Having spent three hours sat on a carpet, next to a motion sensor activated toilet door that keeps sliding backwards and forwards like the eyelids on a giant lizard. I would upgrade to first class, but I have children and they may need my kidneys one day, so that’s not an option.

In any case, £100 and having to change seven times, is a bargain to have your soul crushed on a Sunday. It’s a bit like church, I’ll come away feeling that guilt, I’ve clearly done something to anger the gods to be treated like this. I must repent and East Midlands Railway will help me do it.

I’m on the train, I have my seat. Someone was in it, but they were smaller than me and so I simply got him in a headlock and frog marched him out of the quiet coach. I feel bad now, his Mum and Dad were really upset.

That’s the final kick in the nuts. The quiet coach. What an oxymoron. If this is quiet then I’d hate to see the load coach. It’s probably like the Big Bang in there. It’s lovely to listen to the sound of people coughing, sniffing, clearing their sinuses and chewing. Who brings an egg mayonnaise sandwich into a train, absolute psychopaths, we should lock these people in the buffet cart and never let them travel again.

Cars are your world, you, it’s calming. You can pick your nose, drive in crocs, sing full volume to Taylor swift, there’s no judgment. This is why people get road rage, they feel safe in their portable portals. That sense of entitlement rises to the surface and they behave like sociopathic bullies, but that’s enough about BMW drivers.

I like how people drive, some are close to the wheel, chin resting on the dashboard, both hands gripping, white knuckles, terrified. You get  the low riders, seat low, leaning back, they may as well be driving in the boot. I’m in an automatic now, I like to give my feet a rest. It also allows me to enjoy my car crisps safely. There is much debate about car crisps, but I’ll

End this now. Hula hoops are the only option, they are designed for eating blind. If you’re taking on a Dorito whilst driving you’re asking for trouble. They are dusty, sharp, and one emergency stop and you’ve given yourself a Chelsea smile.

I’m feeling quite relaxed now. We’re finally moving, for a minute then I was back in my car. Spoke too soon, we are delayed now. We’ve been held at a red light, so I’ll miss all my connections, but that’s just gives me more time to enjoy this wonderful, emotionally draining experience. At least I got this bit of writing done.

And they wonder why people won’t give up their cars?