Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Common City - 27 October 2005

Time turns too quickly sometimes in this city. Had to head over to Wandsworth area to pick up my bank card from the Sorting Office near Kimber Avenue - long tedious story.

I decided to forgo the usual journey to that area - National rail from Wimbledon station to Earlsfield, bus down Garrat Lane. instead, I picked up the 156 from Alexandra street near the railway station. The 156 crisscrosses through the various Merton areas and into Wandsworth. Along the way, it was fairly easy to pick up where the train went and spot a few roads I knew the name of, but from the other side of them.

Ended up in Southfields and soon found Garrat Lane. I decided not to bother getting buses down it, after viewing a map and walked for a mile or so down to Kimber Avenue where the sorting office was, stupidly walking an extra mile because I didn't keep my eyes open.

By the time I'd collected my bank card and got back to Wimbledon, it was already 2.20, so I spent some time at the B&B preparing for prospective interviews, collating the work I've done into easily accessible categories on my laptop, then it was time for a walk - a walk on the Common.

It's a 15 minute walk to the outskirts and from there it sprawls across the landscape.

I found myself standing alone in a forest and wondering.

--------------

So this is London ?
In the middle of nowhere along a leafy path in a forest ?
Not a person to be seen for hundreds of yards and no sign of civilisation, except for the distant hum of traffic.

From the crowded tubes and buses, to the houses in their endless rows with their endless floors and the endless hustle bustle of people and the manic city center activity, where to escape ?

To the Common we go, to the green belt.

In South West London, from the burrough of Merton and beyond, one Common where a person can escape is amongst the most famous, Wimbledon Common. Most people of my generation and older will always associate it with The Wombles, but of course there's a much richer history behind it, which I won't go into right now.

A 20 minute brisk walk from Wimbledon station will get you to the outer edges and from here, the pathways go every which way. From large open areas surrounded by terraced housing right into the thick of things, fields and woods where a person can be alone with their thoughts, walking the dogs, taking a jog, riding horses or just ambling.

This is what balances great river cities and sets them apart from those that eventually fail. Expanses of open ground, green belt areas in the midst of suburbia. In a modern world and a modern city, the presence of these areas is like a gift, a healing force.

Even if a city dweller does not visit green belt areas, they are always aware that they can do so should they have the desire.

I'm a firm believer in the power of walking through nature to settle the mind. I think that any therapy in the world should include getting out into nature as a prerequisite to healing, no matter what the ailment. Whether it be depression, addiction, grief or just city burnout, a long walk in always worthwhile.

I now know I can escape from the crowds at any time and pretty much in any weather, save a blizzard or heavy snowdrift. I may require a stout pair of wellington boots and a warm coat.

A wonderful aspect about Wimbledon Common, which I'm sure is reflected in green belt areas elsewhere in Greater London, is the placement of benches. You can find a bench right along a broad path, or tucked away just inside the undergrowth by a small pond, always positioned so they blend into the environment around.

You find people sitting in the middle of nowhere, as if in their own lounge, reading a book and sipping on a drink. How completely liberating in such a civilised way.

This is the Common Life and damn fine it is too !

Now all I need to do is rent a few dogs for the day to take for a walk and I'll fit right in or take up jogging ? - Hmmm, think I'll stick to ambling for a while. Horse Riding ? - Tally No



Being British

Do I feel British again yet ?
Hmmm, can't say. I haven't really figured out what it means these days.

Last week I was sitting in a coffee shop in central London listening to three old biddies going on about foreigners, as they do (it's either that or the war)
They seemed oblivious to the fact that they were probably outnumbered 3 to 1 by the same foreigners they were dissing.

"oooh, they're so rude"
"and they don't know our way of life, dear"
"ooooh no, he looks a bit polish or sumfink, there's lot of them comin' ere lately"
"yeah, they just don't know how to beeave themselfs"
"Anyway luv, I'm on a bit of a diet dontcha know" (while eating a bacon sandwitch)
"oh yeah dear, me too, I cut daown on the chips innit"

... and so on.

Then we have the gaffers - a likeable lot, hanging out in coffee shops, reading papers, swapping jokes, wheeling and dealing - lots of plumbers, electricians, builders. The ones in the coffee shops, the gaffers, are basically your foremen. Nice life, but you can see they've done their time doing hard graft. Salt of the earth for the most part. Usually highly philisophical about life.

The bus drivers are a wonder, almost all of them are irritable bastards. Can't say I blame them considering the traffic, but they really can be truly dickheadish.
Take the one today, when my Oyster card wouldn't swipe.

"No good swiping it more than once mate, that won't do nuffink"

I felt like saying "so what the fuck am I supposed to do, smart arse - it didn't bloody work !"

Instead I smiled inanely and carried on swiping until it did actually "do sumfink", innit !

Then there was the plonker who said "stop pressing the bloody buzzer, or I'll stop the bus now"

Fair enough - the "next stop" buzzer had been pressed more than once.
In fact, it had been pressed a total of two times.

Go figure - must be a shit job.
I pressed the buzzer about 20 times just before jumping off the bus, in a kind of morse code for "fuck you, tosser"

That's another thing, British anger is dealt out in different ways - it's not an immediate emotional outburst, but rather heavy sarcasm or a bit of "cutting off" - god forbid you accidentally catch the back of someones foot with yours on the tube, you'll get that terrible shirty body language that transmits to everyone around "who does this pratt think he is, treading on the back of my foot - bloody tourists !"
Then if they can, they'll cut off your path if your in a hurry, purposefully walking in front of you.

You live and learn - I've learnt to temper my natural stride to different situations and no longer accidentally tread on the back of peoples feet, not that it happened much, but it did happen. You go from shuffling, to bounding, to strolling, to power walking all in the space of 5 minutes - duck, dive, dodge, brollies up, brollies down, of the edge of the pavement, weave and wind.

When you get good at it, you can do all that while reading a newspaper, eating a sandwich and checking your mobile messages.

Then you get the backpack wielding newbie that seems to manage to get their pack in the way of everything and everyone, standing on the right of the escalator diligently, but not quite figuring out what to do to get the backpack from away from the left. Lift it up in front of you mate, or get it to a resting place real soon. Yes, they can often be British.

And the bankers, or rather, the stripey shirt brigade ?
They're ok, just keep out of their way because they are ALWAYS in a hurry. The younger ones bound up the escalators, the older ones seem to melt out of sight after getting of the tube (very odd that), they are all incredibly adept at the public transport game, often jumping onto trains at the last minute, but never looking ruffled or annoyed. Cold and calculated. I've learnt a lot from them, but can't keep up - they move too fast. I tend to follow in their wake for a while when it's really crowded - they seem to know how to weave really well.

Being British is a futile passtime in London, it just doesn't work.
On any given day, your sharing the bus with someone from Poland, the tube with French students, the coffee shop with Americans and get served by Aussies, Saffas and Canadians in the pub. Then there's the language barrier that presents itself when your talking to a newly arrived Pakistani in a newspaper shop - always fun, always fascinating, usually frustrating.

"How much ?"
"bin blun splingi fwibble"
"Excuse me ?"
"Sorry very much how I help you ?"
"Do you have a dictionary ?"
"aaah, spingle foobwad nigglit pickle"
"I'll take 5 please"
"Thanking you and have a good day !"

A good day indeed, yes, well, today really wasn't that good.

Frustrating day again

I'm getting so tired of this now, how the fuck do you even get a bloody interview in this city ?

Spent the entire morning applying for jobs online, then decided to come into the city to walk around, nipped into The Stone near London Bridge for a quick pint and get a call, more than likely about a potential job - but it breaks up and dies as I'm going outside to get a better signal.

Then the persn just doesn't phone back and worse still, under call register it's listed as (no number), of which there are a LOT here in London (I suspect it's via VOIP or something)

So that pretty much sums up the agencies - obviously there's a bloke sitting with a pile of CV's, he calls, gives you one chance, then - next - and your forgotten about immediately.

Not even the chance to call the number back, because there wasn't one in call register. DAMN IT.

FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT, I'M NOT HAVING A GOOD MONDAY.

A potential job lead lost because T-Mobile IS A TOTALLY SHIT NETWORK.

erm, ok, I think you get the picture - not good, not good at all.

Didn't help much that Canary Wharf was totally uninspiring, I suppose that's what you get when you visit a bunch of bankers. Perhaps it was the muggy day, but I had no inspiration to explore Docklands much more than a cursory walk around Canary Wharf. Perhaps on a sunny day.

Ended up walking around the London Bridge area, down Cannon Street which has a fantastic view down into the St. Pauls area of the city. If you blank out the traffic a bit, you could imagine the street and view looking very similar one or even two hundred years ago. Now this was more my style, after the ultra modern and souless Canary Wharf.

I also just had the best Cornish I've ever eaten, from a barrow just outside London Bridge station - "West Cornwall Pasty" - got a small one for £1.50 - should've got a large, it was so good.

Still, not enough to cheer me up much - that phone call would have been though !
Ahh well, down the pint, get onto the street and see if I can pick up my email somewhere - hopefully that broken phone call has been followed up with an email. .... 10 minutes later - no it hasn't ...

FUCK !

(Posted outside Starbucks Cannon Street station Monday 31st October 15:03pm , without buying coffee - fuck um, if they want to boot me out, they can)