My eyebrows raised nearly as far as the cumulus above me when told the price as a little grey machine spat out my ticket to London. I’d paid manually with money, albeit made of plastic, and was quite enamoured with a paper ticket I could hold. Little did I know my enamouradge would soon pass stood by the Pimms – Wimbledon stall in Leicester Square, realising I’d dropped my ticket somewhere, probably during my whimsical wander through soho or kafuffled shufflings attempting to find the theatre I was supposed to be at in the afternoon, not knowing what time I’d needed to be there and in a mild illogical panic. I can only hope my little piece of orange paper was found by an excited and grateful traveler who went on to explore and fall in love with London. On the upside, with my piece of paper lost, I was now carrying less weight.
Feeling lighter, my feet and I set off to another square where Nelson resides at a constant and unwavering altitude and folk from around the world gather to photograph concrete lions. To my surprise, the Formula One team McClaren seemed to have invaded and ‘taken’ the square, built a wall around it, and even erected flags. When the British plant flags it’s usually a sign of new and enforced ownership and the whole scene looked as if a fort had indeed been built, ready to be defended with various cutting-edge tooling and wheel nut guns. Looking across to parliament I wondered if they were aware. Perhaps I should tell them, I thought, but wasn’t really sure who to phone in such an unusual emergency.
Sat on the steps of St Martin-in-the-Fields surrounded by a group of German teenagers on a school trip, I looked on as various folk were introduced. I couldn’t see them, but could on a large screen erected by Nelson’s feet, well, at column bottom. Some had exotic Italian surnames and others had names like Norris and Piastri. Cheers erupted and I could only assume that elections had begun for the various leadership roles required for the newly commandeered land. Deciding to leave them to it I stood up, tripped over a student, and headed for Whitehall.
I noted that London appears to be healthily populated by extremely confident women, as many of them were reaching impressive rapidity on various bicycles and Lime bikes circling Charring Cross roundabout like elections round a nucleus. They outnumbered the fellas three to one and outdid the Just Eat and Diliveroo pacers with ease. Summer dresses billowing in the breeze felt traditional and quintessential as I gazed up at football pitch sized Union Jacks suspended from the grand ramparts of London’s high turreted architecture.
Good grief it was warm, and in order to return to the house I currently live in, where there are fresh apples, chilled ginger cordial, a place to comfortably take my clothes off and a device that delivers chilled water extensively to my entire body, I had to first navigate a system of trains and their various boundaries that prevent travel. I don’t like automated ticket machines, and was aware that I’d worn extremely comfortable shoes, a make that a lovely man in Keswick had recommended to me some time ago and that I’ve I’ve worn ever since when considering using for my feet for what they’re designed for. ‘The man’ owns ‘The Keswick Boot Company’, so thought he may be angling for a sale at first, but I’m on my fourth pair with goodness knows how many miles, rocks, concrete and grassy trails under my soles. If you ever visit Keswick, and need shoes, find that man.
I’ll walk to Victoria Station then, past the King and his Palace, through his park, along his roads, smile at his subjects and bow to his swans, but in my Italian shoes and at my pace.
Victoria and other London hubs burst with fascination. I look outwards and see a man carrying a cat on a lead, and a complete travelling orchestra with a myriad of cases and paraphernalia all covered in stickers collected from similar hubs around the world. The sheer array of haircuts, clothing, styles, attitudes and cheek bones that pass from right to left and visa versa (sometimes up and down), well, enough to fill the boots twice and thrice of any big data body concerned with the variety of our species.
I looked down and smiled at my shoes. Focusing on those blurred the Spicey Mayo Double Whopper that was in my hand at waist height, and remined me of travel. With that, a glance up told me I needed platform five within the next eight minutes.
