Lifehacking my journey to work. Part 1, the problem

About four months ago I started a new job in Brighton. This meant for the first time in a good while I had to commute by train. I have always enjoyed the train and in the past have found it a great place to get a little work on my personal Python projects done before and after the office PHP grind. The journey itself takes between 15 and 20 minutes depending upon on whichtrain I take, just enough time to write a little section of code, or indeed a blog post. Initially the trains were quite pleasant and uncrowded but then for some reason it all changed for the worse.

Here is a breakdown of the typical journey before I decided to start hacking it:

Phase 1. The mount

Jostle to get to the front of the platform as the doors open in the hope of getting a window seat.

Phase 2. Staking a claim

Find a seat, remove laptop from bag and sleeve, wait whilst laptop wakes up and wait for it to ask if I want to join the locked network on the train so I can say no and close the dialog.Suddenly squeeze up closer to window place bag on lap, place laptop on top of bag, tuck elbows into ribcage and fold legs back underneath seat as a couple resembling Wildebeests, bred from the genetic stock of Hagrid decide that the seats around me are just perfect for them.

Phase 3. The business

Attempt to type something with hands held like a begging dog due to the straitjacketed elbows and non-ergonomic position of laptop on top of lap and now on top of bag too. Turn up volume on iPod to drown out the various wheezing, grunting and caveman-like noises that pass as conversation between the aforementioned genetic throwbacks in an attempt to think. Realise I am going to get nothing done and prepare to disengage.

Phase 4. The dismount

Long before the train begins to slow, engage in an elbow battle whilst forcing the laptop back into it's sleeve and bag. Politely say excuse me and stand up as my hillbilly travel companions tuck their legs slightly to the side leaving me a one inch gap between their knees the size of volleyballs and the edge of the table as I attempt a Houdini act to free myself from the chair. Dash off train just in time breathing a sigh of mingled relief and frustration.

This had been happening so frequently lately that I was probably averaging 10 words each direction. Time to try a little lifehacking, so Part Two will reveal the solution.