Planes, Trains and Weirdos ...
One of the first thing that strikes you about London is the baffling transport system. In my part of Devon there are limited transport options - you can take the bus (on Tuesdays), or the train (on the second Thursday of every month, excepting months with vowels in them. On those occasions the trains come every third Monday, and only if you don't mind a detour to Okehampton via Bideford). In London it is possible to take three different modes of transport in the same journey. Madness, sheer madness. I mean, how on earth do you choose?!
Actually, it's quite easy to choose your method of transport in London. I've completely eradicated buses from the list of choices because I still don't quite understand how people know exactly where to catch your desired bus. Where is bus stop Z?! I've found two so far - one on New Oxford Street and another at Waterloo. So how do you know which one to go for?! Londoners appear to have been born with some kind of genetic intelligence whereby they are able to go to the correct bus stop in an instant, they know that Edgware and Edgware Road are in fact two entirely different places, and they understand the innate differences between an Oystercard and a Travelcard (although I've cracked that one now - an Oyster card is blue and plasticky. A Travelcard isn't).
So, having decided against buses, that leaves me with trains, tubes and the DLR. I think we can rule out the DLR because I work in Central London, so catching the DLR to work would mean I was taking a bit of an extrapolated route. And I've been on the DLR. Once. It was like riding Oblivion at Alton Towers, only about a million-times more pants-wetlingly scary (a train where you can sit right at the front and see what's coming?!?! What lunacy is this? The tracks look like the current state of Southend Pier - not altogether structurally sound!).
Ok, so trains or tubes it is. Here's where the choice is really easy. You can either go by tube, where you'll be squashed into the armpit of a sweaty foreigner whilst having your buttocks groped by a sinister looking man in a suit, or you can go by train, where you'll be squashed into the armpit of a sweaty foreigner whilst having your buttocks groped by a sinister looking man in a suit. The choice is yours. Either way you'll be late for work, and will be left feeling slightly greasy and extremely violated for the rest of the day. Still, at least you don't have to take a detour to Bideford on the way .....