The bus drove by the greyish brown walls and tree-claws of Grosvenor Place. Somehow, the greyness of London brings out the colour of the people that throng this city. The colour of the foreign faces against those walls made me smile. I miss London.
We snaked through the busy streets of London, fighting to get into the centre whilst others fought to get out at the end of the working day. Primark came into view on the left. I smiled again. We soon pulled into Victoria Coach station, the place of many adventures. No, misadventures I do recall; of missing coaches and sad farewells.
There it was all over again. The faint stench of London’s sidewalks, immigrant cab drivers urging you to take the most expensive cab-ride of your life. That is no different from when you first arrive at JFK in New York; just that its yellow there and black here. I turn the corner and there was the familiar Starbucks at the t-junction before heading into the train station.
The moment you enter the train station, its like you hit the ground running. Faces, tailcoats, chattering mouths rush past you, into you. The high ceilings of Victoria do not make up for the scores of people scurrying below in all directions. I caught glimpses of the familiar yellow luminous jackets of London policemen. Tall, fine young men with no guns; somewhat castrated, don’t you think?
And with many others, we struggle down the steps from the train station to the Underground; so many memories here of helping struggling old ladies, black women, young children carry their luggage down that flight. There was no one to help me today. Or yesterday. Chatters rush by you as arms and legs fight to get into the rush-hour Tube trains. Funny how they mind the gap but not the people around them.
a strip of london | london
Uncle T
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