Taking the train to work has never really appealed. Adding two hours of traveling to the day seems like madness to me. At Clapham Junction I occasionally catch the last leg of a morning commuter train and its a more miserable experience than an afternoon in an Atlantic City Casino, and more crowded than a tube train.
Brighton, where Kate and I spent New Year, has lovely shops, a good vibe, 2 piers (or rather, one pier and one skeleton of Britain's only Grade I listed pier) and s.e.a. but none of these things, or the combination of them all, make it worth commuting to work for. What does tempt the two of us (buying a house and opting to commute is a joint venture, after all) is the fact that for considerably less € than we were planning to spend on a 2 bedroom flat nearish but not-that-nearish to Central London, we could buy our own h.o.u.s.e. with a g.a.r.d.e.n. Considerably closer to Central Brighton, too.
Sadly, when we got home, we found that the current commuting time to our places of work is more like 1.5 hours each way, not including whatever time it took to get to Brighton station. I think three to four hours of commuting each day is more than either of us can stomach. Better find that ideal London flat in Zone 1. Somehow.