Sometimes I think I could stay on this line forever. Cambridge to York, up and down and up and down for hours, just absorbing other people’s lives and never getting off, conceding all of my own responsibilities whilst on what’s effectively a liminal steel box speeding up the English countryside. I’m on my way home for the summer, already overwhelmed by the long stretch until October. Need to do a summer budget, beg for my part time job back, re-learn how to drive, and, the impossible task, align my friends’ schedules to find a date for the group holiday.

“I instinctively pick up my own phone for a quick dopamine hit from the Holy Trinity: Instagram, Hinge and Duolingo”

For a Friday afternoon it’s predictably cramped and there’s palpable irritation in the air. Today, more than most days, it seems that the whole population of England is contained in this one carriage. There’s a toddler desperately being fed Wotsits in an attempt to restrain him from vaulting over the sticky seats to poke an extremely busy manspreading finance bro, whose Apple setup is more valuable than my current net worth. Then there’s a man who thinks it’s a good idea to bring his bike, helmet, sunglasses and jangling rucksack with him down the aisle, almost knocking out an old woman as he goes. I’ve even seen dogs and cats on this line before, usually taking precedence over a pregnant woman because the anxious millennial couple think their little Dachshund should have a seat too. My favourites are the passengers who do absolutely nothing, just vacantly stare out of the window with the same whimsical look, whether it’s the Yorkshire countryside or the edge of post-industrial Doncaster.

I’m desperately trying to relax. I must put on my best zen and mature face for my parents. In reality, I’m a broken and hungover shell of a human after the seven day bender which we label ‘May Week’. The woman opposite me is caressing her phone like it’s an injured bird, checking it incessantly and with such nervous excitement that I just know she’s texting her boyfriend. I instinctively pick up my own phone for a quick dopamine hit from the Holy Trinity: Instagram, Hinge and Duolingo.

“I doubt I’ll ever meet my future husband whilst on the Peterborough to Doncaster line, but you never know”

On this 200-mile journey home from university, as I’m schlepping along a battered suitcase (mysteriously heavier than when I brought it 8 weeks prior), I never know what to do with myself. By my change at Peterborough, I’ve still not decided on a podcast, or a playlist, or one of the three books in my bag to read. Then, only to exacerbate my choice paralysis, I remember that I must respond to my friend’s daily Snapchat vlog she’s sent me. Matching her perfect balance of hilarity and profundity is no small task, so instead I pull out my makeup bag and slap on a fresh layer of industrial level concealer to hide my end of term eye bags. I doubt I’ll ever meet my future husband whilst on the Peterborough to Doncaster line, but you never know. One must always be prepared, I think, as I’m applying another layer of lip gloss.

My stream of consciousness is interrupted by my third change. I’m overheating, overstimulated, and on the verge of tears, wondering why God didn’t choose me as one of his ‘born within the M25’ favourites. At the platform I buy an overpriced coffee and sweet treat to restore some mental clarity, and turn my attention to my summer self-improvement project. Reflecting on my first year at university, I open a fresh notes app page and begin a list called “Lessons Learned”. It commences:

• Drink less. Spirits are not your friend. Wine is fine, if drunk from a glass and not straight from the bottle.
• In regards to dating, grow a backbone.
• Sustain less injuries. Calling your parents from Addenbrookes because you’d torn your meniscus trying to Irish jig in Sid Bar was an all time low.
• If you’ve had more than 4 coffees, you forfeit the right to complain about crippling anxiety.
• You can’t justify acrylic nails as ‘self care’ if it means sacrificing your Sunday supermarket shop.
• You are on the precipice of your third decade. Get a grip.

I could continue, but decide that these may prove challenging enough, and it’s best not to set the bar too high. Besides, the intercom was announcing arrival at York. After the best part of four hours, I could kiss the platform.