I 'heart' LDN

As a Londoner and a commuter, I appear to be heading towards the terrifyingly indelible territory of becoming one of those uncouth City-folk who is easily frustrated with tourists. More specifically, with tourists who amble along at a snail’s pace, who change their mind about which direction they're heading in last minute, that don't know Tube etiquette. It never used to bother me, but I'm increasingly finding myself angrily rolling my eyes at those who stop dead in front of me whilst I'm trying to get somewhere. (“Rolling my eyes” because I’m far too polite to take any overtly physical or verbal action that may be considered rude).

We know who we are. We manoeuvre the streets of London, or whichever city we're living in, with an aggressive grace somewhat akin to the lovechild of a gazelle and a heavyweight boxer (for the record, I’m not suggesting that all urbanites are living alternative lifestyles involving bestiality). We walk with purpose. We walk with phone in hand, talking, typing or reading. We know which platform we need, exactly how to navigate the maze of tunnels, escalators and buskers to get there, where to stand on the platform to minimise the distance to the exit at our destination. We effortlessly weave betwixt all those that stand in our path. We do not initiate conversation withother commuters. We maintain a dignified sense of personal space whilst sweatily pressed up against each other on the Tube, casually reading our books, Kindles and free newspapers as though we were in our own private studies with a glass of brandy within easy reach. We raise a wry ‘brow above narrowed eyes at tourists who comment loudly about how busy and/or hot the Tube is.

There is, however, something that feels profoundly wrong with this attitude. It’s rooted in the notion that we’re busy people, and that we need to get to where we’re going as quickly as possible. We must not waste a single precious moment. All those who ramble aimlessly are wasteful, procrastinating, lost waifs.


But as J R R Tolkien wrote in The Fellowship of the Ring, "Not all those who wander are lost". 

When I wrote my “I resolve to…” list for 2012, one of the entries was to walk more. When I started this blog, it was partly to capture the many wanderings of the City that I’d planned to do. So far, seven months in, the blog’s been light on the wanderings, and heavy on the ponderings (and notebook/book fetishes). This is partly because I am, as a colleague has aptly christened me, a “Sun Baby” who retreats to the safety of my duvet as soon as it begins raining, and conversely needs to be physically tied to my desk if you expect any work from me once the sun graces us with its presence. It’s also partly because over the last few months I’ve managed to let the mundanity of life distract me from l’art de vivre, ie from the small things that make us happy.

Thankfully, the past week has reminded me why I included ‘walk more’ on my list and I think it may have saved me from becoming a caricature of a soulless City-dweller.

Before I get to the Portobello mushroom of this post (I’m a vegetarian; “meat” is lost on me) and why I think we need to take a leaf out of the tourists’ book, let me share a few of my procrastinated meanderings from over the last seven days:

Sunday 22 July:  Headed out to The Regent’s Park (on the bus I might add, a last minute decision after realising I wasn’t in a rush and it was a beautiful day, so why get the Tube?). Read by the boating lake. Looked out aimlessly onto the boating lake. Resolved to go rowing on said boating lake before the summer ends. Walked over to Camden market the long-way round, with a stop off to look at the giraffes in London Zoo, which can be seen from the street. Arrived at Camden. Spent too much money on new piercing, second-hand books and jewellery. Curse you Camden.

Tuesday 24 July: After quick drink with a colleague after work, decided to go for a wander as it was too nice an evening to head home. So: From Minories down Canon Street, down to St Paul’s (nice little walk around St Paul’s Cathedral. Discovered London 2012 mascot Wenlock dressed as a red phone box. Also learnt that apparently couples deem the grounds of St Paul’s perfect ‘making out’ territory), down  Fleet Street, the Strand, detour into Somerset House, back onto the Strand, to Trafalgar Square, an aborted walk around The Mall before back to Trafalgar Square. Jumped on the bus back home after seeing that there’s a route that goes right outside my flat, and once again realising that I wasn’t in a rush to get to my destination.

Wednesday 25 July: A group of us from work go for a wander around Tower Hill at lunch, to see all the various London 2012 activities that are going on. Cameras come out, and we joke that we look like tourists when we actually just work five minutes away. We become increasingly excited at the sight of Olympic volunteers.

Thursday 26 July: Quick drink with another colleague after work before heading home to view a house. Tube back into town at about 8.30 in the evening. Destination? The temporary Fire Garden at the National Theatre. Absolutely breath-taking, and end up spending about an hour and half there before finally heading back home via Westminster Bridge.


Friday 27 July: Took an hour out with a colleague to watch the Olympic Flame on the Gloriana by Tower Bridge. Aside not having a clue what was going on, and both of us being too short to really see anything, was brilliant for the buzz and the barge. 

For those that are good at maths, you have hopefully worked out that:

(impatient commuter - urbanchip on shoulder)^sunshine x time to kill = urban tourist

Or something like that. Maths isn’t one of my strong points. Much like geography.

But I digress. To cut what’s becoming an ambling piece of writing short (ironic, no?), what I’m getting at is that I think we sometimes need to become tourists in our own cities, to take in the city around us with the eyes of curiosity and wonder normally reserved for the unfamiliar.  

In my previous post from by the sea, I ruminated on how we can recapture that sense of peace we often feel when we’re away from home. I didn’t have an answer. But during each of those mini stories from the past week, I found myself feeling exactly the same way I did whilst away. And this made me pause, to try and work out how it was that I’d managed to feel that freedom whilst in the middle of London, where I work, commute, go out, every day.

And I realised it was this: I’d suspended my rational Londoner for the moment, and taken on the traits of a tourist with all the time in the world to explore and all the curiosity of discovering the new. My pace had slowed down; my eyes were turned up and around me to take in the architecture and surrounding world. Walking down Canon Street and then Fleet Street I saw things I’d not seen before, like the fact that many of the buildings sat on top of the highstreet shops are all wonderfully old, each strip unlike its neighbour. At the Fire Garden I could hear fellow Londoners saying, “I don’t get it”. But there was something beautiful about the little cauldrons and plumes of flame right by the River, and the use of music to complete the experience. In the same way that looking on at water and the sky can turn us into philosophers and poets, fire has the same effect. There was nothing to get. It was there to just be enjoyed.

Wherever we live, we tend to stick to the familiar. To the same pubs, the same restaurants, the same shops. How many times have you said, “I’ve just not gotten round to seeing it yet” about an event, museum or some other ‘tourist’ activity? I’ve lived in London nearly twenty-seven years (minus a stint in Manchester for university), and I’ve only just started enjoying all it has to offer. With the sun out, and the greatest sporting event taking place on our doorstep, we have no excuse to not head out of the comfort of our homes and explore a little. Okay so “no excuse” may be a little harsh, but if we have time to kill or we’re deciding what to do in the evening or on the weekend, it’s not hard to checkout www.spoonfed.co.uk or www.londonist.com or whatever the equivalent for your city is, to see what’s going on, or just heading out to an area we don’t know that well and pretending we’re tourists in our own city. I love London, and will always be a Londoner wherever I’m living. But it’s only when I act the urban tourist that I remember why.


A few photos from the last week

Beefeater Mandeville by Tower of London

The Fire Garden at National Theatre

"His pen could lay bare the bones of a book or the soul of a statesmen in a few vivid lines" Not a bad way to be remembered for a journalist. T. P. O'Connor on Fleet Street.

An example of the architecture on Fleet Street (and around London) if you can take your eyes off the high-street chains

Another shot from Fleet Street

A couple of statues fly the flag for London 2012 on Fleet Street

Here's to serendipity

How often do you follow impulse? I don’t mean a "If that guy sniffs that way one more time I’m going to deck him", desperate ‘I just can’t take it anymore!’ impulse. Or even a bargain-hunting "What?! 100 kilos of dolphin-friendly flaked tuna for £9.99!" impulse. These are the kind that may possibly wind you up in front of a jury, in jail, or drowning in a lifetime’s supply of tuna-mayo-sweetcorn sandwiches. Rather, I mean the "I wonder where that walkway goes?" or "What do I really feel like doing now?" impulse. The sort of unplanned moment where serendipity can sneak in by the side-door and surprise you with a bouquet of flowers, a foot massage, and an offer to take your grandparents out for tea and scones.

This isn’t for the faint of heart. Are you a meticulous planner, who knows the times of the local trains down to the minute? Do you know what you’re doing to the day weeks, no months, in advance? Does an inexplicable twitchiness take hold if an unexpected event throws up the potential of deviating from your beautifully drawn out itinerary? If so, you may want to look away now.

The above character sketch is alien to me. I have tried to be that person. Jokes about being a commitmentphobe aside, there’s something about always knowing what I’m going to be doing at any given time – and not being able to be flexible around that timetable – that makes me a little nervous. I’m not incapable of doing it; I’ll take on the role of planner and organiser if I must, and I’m happy to get out the diary to pencil in a dinner with friends. But I’ll need a little room to manoeuvre, the ability to tinker with the plans last minute, the flexibility for us to choose where we’re going on the day, rather than in advance.

This isn’t to say I’m an untrustworthy person, who’ll bail on you last minute on a whim. Let me elaborate: I think there’s an intimate connection between not being wedded to intricate plans, having an innate curiosity about the world around you, embracing impulse, and serendipity.

An illustrative story for you:

A good university friend of mine came to stay with me in London over Easter weekend. She’s from Warrington, is currently living and working in Berlin, has been to London a few times but hasn’t ever really ‘done’ the city as a camera-carrying tourist. I’d come up with a rough plan of which sights we could see, as we have similar interests. But we agreed we’d simply see which way the wind (and the rain) blew us on the day.

Bar a lie on the Sunday morning (bed… so… very… comfortable...) we got off to a good start with the Tube down to Westminster to gawp at the Houses of Parliament. On the cards next was a wander down South Bank, back over to St Paul’s Cathedral and then a Thames Clipper down to North Greenwich to see The O2 (formerly known as The Millennium Dome), before jumping on the Tube back home.

We may not have completely stuck to my finger-in-the-air plan. In turns out much of the day was influenced by my complete inability to locate places I’ve been to before, as well as my friend's craving for Nando’s. By way of justification for the latter, apparently there’s only one in the whole of Berlin; she was suffering withdrawal symptoms. There was also the crushing realisation that our mid-20’s joints can apparently no longer walk for more than three hours at a time. All was not lost however. It meant she also got to see the buildings around Whitehall, for a start. I rediscovered a beautiful, enchanted part of St James’ Park I stumbled upon over a year ago but hadn’t been able to relocate. Buckingham Palace also made an appearance (driven by the Nando’s urge, not my broken compass), as did Trafalgar Square. Even more unexpectedly, we found ourselves listening to the choir boys in Westminster Abbey during an Easter Sunday service. As well as lots of other lovely discoveries in between.

I hadn’t planned to do anything of these things. But they added to what turned out to be a lovely, relaxing day of sightseeing, minus the calls we’ll be making to our doctors requesting hip-replacements. All stemmed from a militaristic about-turn halfway down Westminster Bridge in order to hunt down the nearest Nando’s, and both of us then listening to our ‘I wonder what’s through there?’ impulse.

One of the things I'm seeking to capture in my rambling monologues is this very attitude – following the twists and turns of a city, as well as embracing feelings of impulse and curiosity. Cities are made for exploration, to be walked, made for discovery. One of the many things I love about London is the way its history is pinned proudly to its sleeve, forcing its way into your consciousness every step of the way. Another facet of my love affair with the city is that it’s grown organically throughout that history. Paradoxically, the result is a beautiful patchwork of architecture, culture and experiences lying in wait to be uncovered by the curious flaneur.

So many times over the last year I’ve almost ignored that twinge of "Ooooh I wonder what’s down there?" or "That sounds like it could be good" whilst out and about. Almost ignored. I’ve not yet been disappointed when I’ve listened to that childlike questioning in my head that wants to explore anything and everything. Like Alice heading down the rabbit hole, saying to herself "curiouser and curiouser", if a hidden walkway between shops looks promising, I’ll duck into it (note I said "promising" and not "dark, mysterious and foreboding". Safety first folks.) If I see a sign to an exhibition that sounds interesting I’ll do my best to check it out there and then or, if I’m unable to, I’ll go back to it when I can.  If a busker is playing music I like the sound of, I’ll try and sit a little to listen. Back to my ‘Headphones out, boys' post, I once managed to get the contact details of a book publisher for a friend after switching my music off on a whim. Nothing may come of following the impulse, but then what have you got to lose?

There’s so much that can come out of seeing the world in this way, outside of wandering a city. Some of the best photographs, for example, have been taken on impulse rather than planned. The Internet works on this philosophy, that you discover content you didn’t know you were looking for until you stumble upon it, after following a desire line of hyperlinks. Much like the other thread that runs through this blog – finding happiness in small things – I’m hoping to share more of my discoveries through the little stories I post here.  For now, I'll just say that if you embrace distraction and impulse – if you listen to the Alice in your head that wants to head down the rabbit hole – then who knows what you may find, what you may learn, what you may discover. You may well be pleasantly surprised by the serendipity that greets you when you reach the bottom.

A few photos from our lost but found Sunday

Looking out from the little cottage in St James' Park, rediscovered

Next to the rediscovered part of St James' Park

Curvature in buildings, something you see all around London 

Cutting through Whitehall Gardens

A patchwork of building styles in the Dean's Yard of Westminster Abbey

Choirboys running after finishing their choiring in Westminster Abbey

A grave laid in Westminster Abbey in 1082

A different view of the Houses of Parliament after cutting through another garden

The view after a detour over Lambeth Bridge, whilst hunting down a Thames Clipper