I need a transporter.

My commute to work is getting harder.

The winter has set in in London, which means that when I leave the house at 7:15, it's still dark out. When I come home, it's dark out.

I'm lucky if I manage to wrestle into the train car amongst all the puffy coats, umbrellas, newspapers and elbows askew.

It gets so hot on the train that I take all my layers off.

I transfer to another train halfway to work. And I don't get a seat on that one either.

Before I get out of the train station, I put all my layers back on.

All of that takes about 50 minutes, and then I walk to my office (10 minutes).

I do this trip twice a day, because I love to work and I love my job. Plus, it's pretty entertaining people-watching on the train. I always make up stories about them in my head.. I wonder who's just broken up with her boyfriend... I wonder who has kids... I wonder who has something stolen in their bag... I wonder if that guy likes his job...I wonder if she's going on a trip somewhere soon..

But people-games aside, it's getting exhausting, especially being pregnant. Yes, yes... mama's a-cookin' again. Life is very exciting at the moment. And very hormonal.

I fantasize about living in a country house in a small country village, walking to work and walking back. And getting some farm fresh produce on the way home, for dinner.

Then I realise that I don't exist in a Norman Rockwell painting. I did when I was growing up, but I don't now. Someday, maybe. But for now, I hope I get a transporter for Christmas.

I'll send you my address.