ZippyGoesWest

London doesn’t exist.

Sure, as a physical capital it’s there for all to see. On google maps you can spin round the Royal parks, dive down Oxford street or cruise down the Thames in a click of a mouse, but tht’s the postcard London, with the Beefeaters and Buckingham Palace. The real London exists inside the heads of the millions of people that crawl the streets and through the underground on their daily commute to work.

Depending on your job, your daily role, London can exhibit varying personalities. I enjoyed wheeling around on my bike, again something that was impossible in Mexico due to the heat, homicidal drivers and pot holes that bring a whole new meaning to the word ‘Pot’ and ‘Hole’.

Then when I got a job, one which necessitates a round journey time of nearly two hours even though it’s only seven miles away, my whole view on London changed overnight.

With winter upon us, the unavailability of a locker at work and the, and the cold unforgiving winter weather meant I couldn’t really cycle in to work. So  thrust up against the cold hard face of public transport, I set off on my daily commute.

Three stations, two rail lines. Free news papers discarded tell of doom and woe, sleepy angry early morning workers, some decked in orange hi-viz working clothes smelling of an alcoholic late night doze in corners or push you through doors, out of their way or tut when you take more than a fraction of a second to bolt through the turnstiles.

With so many people living in London and from so many different cultures, races, religions and languages, people are a curiosity. While they pretend not to, a quick glance up, will usually catch someone looking you over.

By the time the train pulls in to the large Canary Wharf financial centre, it has been joined by others and exponentially you have a large body of people bearing down on you and through onto the bottom of the escalators. With some almost running to get into a free space the aggression is palpable.

I once stepped out of the way for a man on Moorgate. He stepped the same direction, so I went the other way, just as he’d decided to go the same way. What must of looked like a comical foxtrot on the street ended when he  barged past me muttering something. As he stormed off, I – foolishly- called after him “OK, no need to get angry.” At which point, he put his brief case down, turned and snarled at me, his face purple and contorted. Fists clenched, he came at me for a fight. I probably had little dance with him at the wrong time, but it just underlines the pressure and stress that’s isintrinsic to London life.

It’s not all foul tempers and bad transport although one can argue the two come hand in hand. London is a modern city with a Victorian transport system. A transport system that will attempt to shuttle the millions of visitors that are expected for the Olympics in a Month’s time. Many of the capitals businesses are telling their workers to work from home during the event, others have laid on 2nd places of work away from the ‘hot’ zones in an attempt the spread the impact of the numbers of people, either way, it’s going to be carnage.

People are already upset. There are still a lot of people who are angry at the cost of the Olympics, the newspapers tell of how angry people are having the opening ceremony depict their country as a green and plesant land when in fact they themselves live within inner-city slums.

The taxi drivers are angry because the Olympic committee have taken over the bus lanes and carved VIP routes from one side of the city to the other to carry dignitaries, VIPs and athletes. London bus drivers are angry, grrr. Because they’re not getting paid. No sorry, because they’re not getting paid any more money. They believe because the other services are being paid an extra £500 to work through the olympics, they should have it as well, and to push their point home, they’re going to call a strike, during the Olympics.

Saying all that, there’s nothing better than taking your bicycle and riding through the quiet back streets of London on a hot sunny Sunday. Picking up some nibbles from Tesco and sitting in the park with the sun on your face.

Bracing yourself for the following day’s commute. London does exist, you just have to go find the one you’re looking for.