Last Saturday, a sunny haze enswathed north west London. It was a haze that resembled the bright clouds that had hung mysteriously over a scene in one of the preceding night’s dreams, obscuring softly. Despite feeling a little ill, as had been the case for what felt like weeks, I decided to head out and explore London. It’d been a while since my last trip, as life had either taken over, or rather I’d allowed it to get in the way.
I left the house with the usual: water, camera, wallet, sunglasses and a smile. I took the Overground from Queen’s Park to Euston, then changed and got the Northern Line to Burnt Oak in Zone 4, north London. I chuckled to myself on arriving at the station, as the aridity of my new location’s name contrasted massively with my desire to pee. Being that the city is fairly devoid of public toilets that aren’t depressingly gross with only crass marker-pen messages scrawled across walls to cheer you up, I had to find somewhere on arrival. Luckily, when I emerged from the station, pushing my way through large glass doors with beautiful wooden frames, I found myself on a busy high street. Continue reading →
One day, whilst sitting alone together with hundreds of nameless commuters on a tube heading somewhere, I lost myself in the map of coloured lines. I’d been back in England for a few months, and was daydreaming about the freedom of travelling with a backpack, camera and endless time. As I scanned the various train’s paths, it dawned on me I needn’t venture too far for my next trip as London was brimming with the unknown. I’d heard a plethora of names over the tannoy for years, but had never thought of visiting these places. I decided I would explore the city that I lived in without a cumbersome backpack and passport but with the same intrigue and desire.