Commuter Sightseeing 2

Another day, another random work commute... London never ceases to amaze me. I now expect the unexpected most days.

This morning, Nor'n Ir'on and I left the house as usual, not quite awake, ready to stick the iPod in to lose myself in another journey.

But this morning brought a sobering sight; informed there'd been some sort of traffic-stopping incident, we plodded from the bus stop towards the City to rejoin the rat race in Shoreditch.

Then we saw it. Awkwardly splayed across the middle of the road, was a crushed car, with its roof chopped off and flung carelessly onto the pavement. Our street suddenly felt like a film set- police parked haphazardly across the traffic route, the midsection of the road and pavements cordoned off with incident tape, commuters hurrying down the road on foot.

We joined the throng of people walking frantically from the East End, I was lost in my thoughts as you are when you see a sad scene of destruction.

Strangely though, for a fleeting minute, there was a sense of community. People passing messages down to the next bus stop that there'd be no buses running this morning. Sharing a few words and a smile with the girl with the lipring, and the academic looking man sporting a fetching suit and well-tailored jacket.

After a stroll, we reached the bustle of Shoreditch with traffic humming and beeping as usual. Yet on the way to the next bus, we saw further odd sights.

A pile of vintage shoes arranged artfully on the pavement, for no apparent reason. A racing bike installation, sprayed matte white and chained to a City lamppost.

A sad but somehow comedic sight of a binman swigging Stella pre 8am. A plush velvet 4 seater sofa abandoned on the pavement.

Finally on the bus, we're met with the sight of a slightly scary big bald guy, dressed in punky S&M black, with chains and rings and matrix style sunglasses. Suddenly, interrupting my thoughts of 'God, this bus is like a sauna', he recognises the man stood next to me and unleashes a camp greeting with air kisses, and flirts all the way to Clerkenwell. Certainly wasn't expecting that.

So, off the bus and heading to get overpriced coffee to jumpstart our sluggish minds for the day ahead- then I see a woman wearing purple fluffy boot slippers. As you do.

Something of an eventful journey. And all before 8:15am.

I feel sorry for the subterranean tube goers, missing out on the sights of overground London. I'm going to start carrying my camera round all the time.


-- Post From My iPhone

Commuter Sightseeing 1

We had a guest last night, who we work with. She joined me on the daily commute from Bethnal Green to the City this morning, on the packed red bus.

It was a typically sweaty journey in the muggy heat, punctuated by an "URGH!" when she got emerged off the claustrophobic bus, into the fresh (ish) air, gasping a lungful of smog.

Me: "What's up?"

N: "You know the skinny weird guy with long hair who got on, and I moved down to get away from him?"

Me: "Yeah..."

N: "He came and stood next to me, my hand was on the post holding myself up and... and... his hair was touching my hand the whole way!" *shudder*

This, in my opinion, is typical of one side of the London bus experience. In the few months I've lived here, I've realised there's a dichotomy of journeys to work.

It's either: rammed with sleepy commuters, unbearably sticky, someone's armpit/groin/hair/breath is in contact with you; and you spend the entire time willing the minutes to somehow go faster so you can get a lung full of air that's not been breathed by everyone else on the bus.

Or, it can be a wonderful sightseeing tour through an interesting part of the city where you get a seat and you can inwardly critique the other passengers' shoes. I stick my iPod in, blast out my current musical obsession (recently Please Venus by the Golden Silvers and Into the Chaos by Howling Bells) and lose myself in the scenery. My bus route does seem to be filled with details I discover anew every morning, a palimpsest of shabby buildings with decades of fly posters, graffiti and signs; and East Londoners going about their daily business.

One thing I relish on these journeys is being part of the rat race. I never thought I'd say that, but it feels like you're part of this big commercial effort, hordes of suited people wearing trainers and striding purposefully to their desks, the hardcore among them running into work. Every other person clutches a coffee and had the distinctive white Apple earphones in, streaming their way towards the City. I am strangely impressed by the ability of City workers to read. Whilst walking. I'd be under a bus in seconds if I did that, not to mention at the very least stacking it ungracefully (my default physical setting) and dropping my laptop/ contents of my handbag haphazardly.

Another is the people. I'm starting to recognise the people on my bus in the mornings and share that tiny "I know you" glance. There's the girl who gets on round Old St who always has ace hair and wears covetable pretty vintage floral dresses, who breezes onto the bus like she's walked out of a high end soft focus perfume ad. And the beautiful androgynous boy who totally pulls off the skinny designer suit with a hint of lipgloss and perfectly arched brows and bronzed cheeks. He stood next to me today and he's also very fragrant. Possibly Prada.

Not to mention my hot fellow commuter neighbour from my block, who my housemate (who will now be known as Nor'n Ir'on since when she's asked where she's from, instead of saying Belfast, this is the noise emitted), keeps missing when I bump into him and thinks I am making him up. I'm not.

Today, after a hard day, we decided to walk the journey back home since it was a glorious evening and we ought to have done something to counteract the volume of Chenin consumed last night. Chatting casually, we eyed up the other people frantically walking to and from their respective jobs. One tall, pretty normal looking (for East London) man walked towards us, and Nor'n Ir'on and I parted so that he could walk the opposite way between us. Then there was that moment where you know the person you're with is about to comment on what just happened.

We looked at each other wryly.

Me: "That was weird..."

No'rn Ir'on: "....he just looked directly at my crotch."



Just your average walk home from the office then.