The Joys of the Morning on the Northern Line

Having moved house in London for the umpteenth time and now living for the first time south of the river, I am still struggling to acclimatise.

First of all, yes, there are very nice areas in South London, but having mostly lived up north, with a few hills and more importantly, where the areas used to be little villages that were swallowed by the mass that makes up London but still managed to retain their villagey feel somehow, coming to South London now feels like entering one massive housing estate that stretches on and on for ever and ever.

That, and that my particular area is just filled with young professionals, who destroy any area they move into by taking over decent pubs and turning them into places where it is impossible to have a conversation over the blaring music, and where real ale is a thing of the past, as alcopops are suddenly the fashionable drink or something like that. The small shops where you could get everything you would ever need are being replaced by yet another Byron, or yet another Jamie Oliver-gone-whatever-the-cuisine-of-the-moment-is, something that can be nice on occasion, but not when that means sacrificing my usual daily life network of shops and amenities.

Nonetheless, I am willing to overlook these downsides by taking slightly longer journeys for shopping or food to Brixton or Tooting Broadway, both on the brink of yuppie-hood but at least in some areas they have still been able to maintain their character. What really makes me suffer now, living where I do, is the fact that I have to commute into the City with the Northern Line…

The Northern Line… or rather The Horror Line as I call it, is busy. Very busy. Crazy busy. Yes, the trains arrive every 2 minutes, but even so, on a good day it takes me 5 trains before I can find a tiny bit of foothold to be able to stand in the carriage door and somehow push the mass of human bodies in enough to make it within the closing door limits. On a bad day I have to let many more trains pass before I can find such a chance.

And then I am inside. Squashed against the door on my back and against the person in front of me, who I am spooning in a fantastically uncomfortable manner with my bag propped in somehow to make the entire experience at least nominally a little less indecent, one arm reaching in an attempt to hold onto a rail, cramped muscle in such arm while trying to keep myself from leaning even more into the surrounding bodies on turns and breaks of the tube, and the head in an awkward angle under the inwards-curving door and carriage roof in an attempt to find a position that is least uncomfortable and allows me to get at least a little bit of air. Which is futile, as air is non-existent in such tube, any oxygen that once was has long been used up by the mass of bodies and replaced with a hot, sweaty and stifling gas that miraculously does NOT suffocate everyone present. I don’t know how it is that people don’t faint en masse under these conditions, but then again, even if they did, there would not be a chance in hell for them ever reaching the floor, the bodies squashed against each other will hold everyone in place. So who knows, maybe half of the people in the carriage are already unconscious, but I will never know…

Yes, such fun is to be had every morning. I have taken to getting off a station early and walking the last bit to work, for one because it means I can cross London Bridge with the views and, with enough time, a coffee in my hand. A walk of a few minutes, fresh air, I repeat, fresh air, and the chance to shake off the worst of the physical stress my body has had to endure in the airless, squashed and unnaturally bent position on the train. But also, at London Bridge a number of people get off, so following them to the other side of the carriage, as of course I get on through one set of doors but have to exit on the other side, is easy enough. And, if I stayed on, a new bulk of human bodies squeezes in to ensure not even one stop can be travelled in even remotely comfortable conditions. And on a good day when I get ready early enough, I treat myself and take the bus.

Of Ears and Worms

I don’t know about you, but I am very prone to earworms. I probably am singing a song in my head pretty much any minute of the day, just that by now I don’t pay them so much notice anymore. However, a few songs are particularly loud in my head. And persistent. And cannot be ignored that easily. This is not necessarily a good thing, if you were thinking that humming a tune just testifies to a happy nature. Especially when it’s a song that I don’t even like, but just won’t leave my head, happy does not factor in much.

So where do these songs come from? Songs I hear in passing are an obvious source of course. Which can be tricky, coming back to the crap songs that sometimes stick and me then having to find another earworm just to purge the crap song from my head. Actually a good and effective remedy. Fight fire with fire, or rather earworm with earworm. Once you have another earworm, one that you like, you will continue singing it for a while, but after some time they slowly fade, without you spending long and agonising moments fighting a crap song that, just because you hate it so much, will get renewed energy every moment you notice it.

Also, in my case, a sentence or even just a word might do it. Almost any sentence can trigger a song. Pretty much everything anybody says has probably been used in a song. And oh so often I find myself listening to someone speak and suddenly breaking out in song in my head with the same words. Or word. Such as Rotterdam. That alone will, and does very often, trigger The Beautiful South. And since I know the song so well it usually takes me a while to be done with it, as I will work my way through the entire lyrics. When do you ever hear Rotterdam mentioned you ask? Well, my problem is that my manfriend is from Rotterdam, so mentions are plenty and frequent, and I don’t stand a chance trying to avoid it. Funnily enough, I have never been to Rotterdam, so other than a vague knowledge of where I might find it on the map I have nothing other than the song to associate with it, which probably makes this earworm even more persistent.

Another favourite of mine, or rather my head, is Wasn’t Built to Get up at this Time. Remember that one? This I sing almost every morning. When I was at uni, the radio station my alarm clock was tuned to played it EVERY morning when my alarm went off for weeks. Very appropriate I suppose. Thing is, even now, decades after, I still sing this thing most mornings, just for the simple fact of it. Me and mornings, yeah, well, that’s a whole different story, and not a happy one let me tell you. So just to iterate the point, no I Wasn’t Built to Get up at this Time.

Just a few examples, but I guess you get the picture. Picture yourself in a boat on the river, with tangerine trees and marmalade skies, somebody calls you… So much for that!!

 

The Dance of Spring

Maybe it’s that old saying “Spring is in the air” that applies here… As spring certainly is around, at least when I go by trees and bushed being in bloom and lots of daffodils and crocuses dotting their splash of colour throughout the landscape. Temperatures are falling back to winter it appears, but then we HAVE had a few warm days already, proper “lounge-in-the-park” days, even if, after an hour or two, you needed a jacket or a hot cuppa tea.

But love certainly is in the air! Or maybe I just notice it a bit more… I would argue that it’s probably the few warmer days that brought everyone out into the open again, warmer temperatures make it more bearable to spend a few more minutes outside exchanging affections. Or it’s just me who has started digging my head out of the layer of clothing and scarves, like a turtle, and who actually walks around with a bit more attention to what’s going on around me, rather than running as fast as I can to get into the warmth of my flat. All possible…

Whichever way it may be, yesterday on the way home I passed through the gates at the station, and started to make my way through the obstacle course presented by the mix of people rushing home, like myself, and people standing in the hall either studying the departure board to check for their train, or waiting for someone. A few meters in, by the wall of a shop, was a guy standing and waiting, scanning every person’s face that came towards him out of the gates. Then recognition flickered over his face, when a girl came up to him. A shy smile waved across his features, and he brought forth some greeting, I am sure (they were out of earshot), and she reached up to embrace him and kiss a hello on his cheek.

You could almost physically see the expectant and excited tension between the two. Date number two I would say, still not clear whether a peck on the lips might be the right thing, but certainly something they would’ve liked to do. And then went for the embrace instead, much safer, and won’t have the embarrassing consequences in case the other was not on the same page… They were obviously at the stage where they knew they liked each other, but were still figuring out how much.

All of this is of course just conjecture, I didn’t know either of them, and I could not hear what they said to each other, so my interpretation might be completely wrong. The reason why I come to this conclusion is that just a few months ago I was that girl. He (well, not HE as in this guy, but my (by now) manfriend) was waiting at pretty much the same spot, scanning faces, and the same as this guy only noticed me fairly late. The same as this guy, a shy-ish smile crossed his face, and the same as this guy he looked like the kiss on the cheek was only the second-best option. A few months ago it was me who opted for the embrace, and who jumped in on the cheerful-but-meaningless-greeting-titter-tatter-just-to-get-over-the-embarrassment-of-not-knowing-how-to-behave-properly-in-this-situation chat. I remember the feeling of excitement, of not knowing but hoping that this might be the right guy, with all his quirks and edges to fit around my quirks and edges. I remember the weird confusion I had, I guess everyone has, when at the beginning you are not quite sure of anything, and other than a vague liking for and attraction to the other person you are not sure how much you yourself actually like the guy. Yet.

Ah well. In my case it all turned out lovely and lovingly, as I now actually pass this spot every day, having recently moved in with manfriend. Watching this little scene just reminded me of the beginnings, and brought back memories of these warm fuzzy feelings, the excitement and the uncertainty, and the knowledge of how much more I have gained by now in these past few months, after I was part of this situation. Watching this just made me think of how cute those two looked, and how much more they will experience together in the coming days and weeks. And I wonder, back when I was there, when I was the protagonist of this little scene, I wonder if somebody watched us go through this same dance and thought the same thing, and remembered their own second date in turn? 

In my case it certainly had nothing to do with spring, as it was a cold and rainy autumn day. But the season is always the same when it comes to the spring of love. And I will better stop this little narrative right here, before I completely slip into tacky phrases and drown in sticky clichés. Whatever else it can be described as, this little scene was certainly cute, and it certainly made me smile. And I just really want to go home and hug my man…

Water Water Everywhere

Mother Nature is obviously pissed! She's giving us all she's got, although I probably shouldn't say that, as I've seen her do worse... But that was in Malaysia (with rain literally washing down as if out of buckets) or Japan (a taiphoon there can still teach these hurricanes here in Britain a lesson or two), so far far away. However, there's one thing to be noted: Down here in England you don't expect that kind of thing! 

I've seen the pictures on TV for quite a few days now, storms washing away parts of the coast, Somerset turning into an inland sea, but even then it seemed so far away. But now it's right at our doorstep.  As in my work neighbourhood.

Good news is: They keep sending us home early from the office, to give us a chance to get through one of the few roads that are still open. From the train or the bus I take home parks and fields have turned into ponds, a river I didn't even know was there has turned into a lovely waterpark, and the Thames in Staines which I cross every day has majestically claimed back the paths along its side (well, it's called the Thames Path after all). That and some houses, buildings and plenty other areas along with it. She has asserted herself most powerfully, you don't mess around with Queen Thames! There is now only a few sandbags between the river and my regular supplier of beer, The Swan in Staines. Even the calanisation can't take it anymore, water is coming up the drains, and even breaks through randomly along the streets, right through the concrete. The town now really needs to be renamed again, from Staines-Upon-Thames, a title it has only just received in recent years, to Staines-Under-Thames. By the way, that's not from me, I am not that creative...

So imagine, you go to work every day, and it's just the same routine, nothing ever happens apart from, well, work. I've been watching the river rise, and even seeing it climb over the banks and flooding the path didn't seem too unsettling, what's a bit of mud after all? I assumed with the tide ebbing it would just move out again. Well, nowadays it doesn't. 

Instead the army moved in. It makes you feel very uncomfortable to see the army passing your office in convoys. OK, they are armed with rescue boats and sandbags, which is so infinitely preferable to weapons, but despite all the help and support they are giving people in the area, seeing them pass just triggers images from war zones. Well, technically I guess we are in a war zone by now, just that you can't shoot Mother Nature and be done with it... Not for lack of trying, I am sure. 

Well, now all we can do is wait. Wait for the rain to stop pouring down, for the wind to stop pushing the water inland, the rivers to get to grips with the amount of water and sticking to their normal course. It may be a while, though. I should've joined that rowing club after all...