Ghost train

Setting off in my spectral carriage we weaved in between warehouses, water and wastelands. This whole area is still in a state of shock by all the new attention after over 100 years of neglect. Strange how commerce here is now measured in square metres rather than imperial tonnage.

The sweet exception to the rule overshadows the penultimate stop. The factory is visible in granular detail while on the other side a deathly silent entrance to the city. It was a Saturday though so I suppose if the City is asleep so the entrance will be too.

The terminus is next but it won't be so for long: construction ahead will soon turn a dotted blue line into a solid one, burrowing beneath a somewhat wider blue line. For now though I'm going to have to choose between a couple of other means to reach that destined destination...

Where was I?

After 100 hours of work + commutes this week I decided I was long overdue for an explore.

When I first arrived in London I spent many weekend hours exploring the exteded capital guided by size zones of be-tracked public transport and a trusty A-Z. Since successfully reaching every termus and being rattled by every metre of rail that's pretty much stopped.

A couple of months ago though a new spur opened up and so I took my opportunity.

So fascinatingly confused is this part of London that it felt like one of those Sunday newspaper quizzes... so here goes, minus most of the literary and historical references, folks. to be continued...

Double Deutsch

Perhaps I should start carrying an umbrella. Not because of rain: we haven't had much of that stuff in the South East over the last few months leading to hosepipe bans all over the place. No, because my tour guiding has obviously matured to the point where I can cope with multiple guests following me around and hanging off my every word.

I introduced my two German friends to the comforts of chez moi (with one exception) before we progressed to lunch in the village past the electroretailmagnets of assorted shoe shops.

Then onto a river cruise down to Greenwich: any excuse to get on the water, the second time in as many weeks. I can't quite describe the almost unintelligable commentary: a manic cockney accent with a distinctly cynical lilt that suggested he might have been doing the job for too many years.

My friends were easier to understand: if only my German was as good as their English. Never thought I'd be discussing the finer points of modern architecture or how views on European/domestic identity varies between class boundaries in Germany and the UK.

Love on the rocks

I still think this place is great.

A little quieter than when Angela was here but a different way to spend 45 minutes on the doorstep of Regent Street.