Ode to commuting

I wake up at 6 am

All I want is a Krispy Kreme


Shower, clothes, get things ready,

Walk downstairs a bit unsteady



Housemate is up, making coffee

He's on a diet but wants some toffee



Don't slam the door, housemates sleeping

Sun's out, men are sweeping



Oyster, iPad, iPod, phone

Need a Brollie, not my own



I walk agile those few meters

Bag feels heavy, just like liters



7 o'clock, arrive at the station

Train is coming: wind, vibration



Train is crowded, no more seats

Elbow, pushing, no defeat



Famous Circus, change of train

Find the tunnel, don't delay



3 minutes left. WiFi is On

Check your Twitter and some (dot)com



Brown as earth and old as hell

Jolting parts and dodgy old smell


I don't hate it, it's just Bakerloo

Doesnt matter, call at Waterloo *

*i know, i know... this rhyming is sh*te, but how would you rhyme Bakerloo otherwise?



It is done. Tube ride's over

From one transport to another



7:35. Train departs

Stretch your legs. Journey starts



40 minutes is my train ride

Breakfast and sleeping is implied



I wave bye-bye to the Shard

Foggy, sunny... Avant-garde



Passed through Vauxhall, smells like toast

It's where Nero and Costa do their roast


Pimlico Plumbers flashy in December

Tacky lighting since November



Workmates flirting, it's quite funny

Catering trolley: porridge and honey



You nosy, stop staring at my screen

Keep looking, will show something obscene



8:18: we are almost there

Sun is out but not a glare


My location is not disclosed

London and there: juxtaposed


Run for the bus at 8:19

Cross, not looking, light's not green



Taking this bus is like lottery

When I miss it, eyes go watery


Short bus ride to reach the office

8:30. What a journey!



This is it. It's my morning

Don't disturb me. It's a warning

Ode to my street

Half a mile to the station

Seven minutes of duration



Broken window, stolen car

Someone sleeping at the back



All the floor, full of bones

Chicken, turkey, parts of phones



Bus smells just like chicken

Pack of fries halfway eaten



Bag of peanuts on the floor

Used trousers; I count four



No wheellie bins, front door with bags

Foxes scavenge while they have a fag



Watch your step in the morning

Piles of s***; just a warning



Is it human, is it dog's?

Not a scene from a catalogue



I saw a man sh*tting round the corner

Fights on the street and professional mourners*



Christmas trees on the curb

I just heard somebody burp

 

It's not bulls*it, all true story

It's my street. All full of glory

But that really is another story










*couldnt find another better word to rhyme with Corner.

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Signs

In the Era of Digital Information, computers and virtual life, written words are still powerful. People out there really want to send their message.

'5 Abbey Road'. This really doesn't need any explanation.

'Little Britain'. Well known street for the City of London. I just can't help but think about David Walliams, Matt Lucas and automatically say Yeah, but no, but yeah, but no...

'Diversion'. An innocent detour sign for roadworks is definitely funny for people who knows how speak Spanish. Diversion means 'Fun'. Irony, isn't it?

'Danger. Demolition work in progress. - I don't feel good'. An intense feel of melancholy and pity invaded me as soon as I saw this writing. At first I laughed at the sort of irony between both sentences. But then, I felt really sorry for the person who wrote it. I genuinely think he/she was feeling really sad.

'DIY Centre'. Near Hornsey Rd. Nothing special, I just liked the carefully displayed range of elbows and pipe fittings. Amusing.

'Moreton Street'. In English is not a very interesting name, but it certainly is in Spanish. 'Moreton' is the incorrect (but used) way of saying 'moraton' which means bruise. It is fun, I swear. 

'Lupus Street'. After years of watching House, and in all the episodes Lupus is the first option but never the final diagnosis, the fact that the disease is an actual street really made me laugh.

'The Sun Alway Shine When We Pour. (We don't serve Malibu)'. It was definitely both disturbing the fact that Always is misspelled and the fact that the warn you in advice about Malibu. What sort of place was it? Can't remember. Essex Road. 

'The 1/2 House'. Felt like Harry Potter's Platform 9 3/4. I think magic things happen there. Somewhere near Ennis Road.

'Door release'. Happy face. Inside Richmix. Not all have to be miserable.  

'Budget Britain take computer from Obama'. Bethnal Green Rd.

'Huh?'. On top of Urban Outfitters, Commercial St. Couldn't agree more. 

'Didn't get arrested'. Simple and true, although he might had at the end. Mobstr, where Redchurch St meets Ebor St.

'If you stare at this and stroke your chin you may appear intelligent and cultured'. At the back of the Sunday Up Market, in Brick Ln, close to Vhils' legendary carved portrait. Mobstr made his point, and I happened to capture a tourist in the perfect pose. 

'Coriander ruined my salad'. Probably the most brilliant sign up to date, and definitely my favourite. I absolutely dislike Coriander and hate the fact that everybody cooks with it. Parsley team.

'Just £5 per month will help preserve stickers in their own habitat'. Somewhere in Hanbury St. Silly, at least leave an email address. Wasn't planning to pay for it though. 

'Eleven and A Half'. Just to be clear, I don't live in 11 or 12 Fournier St. 

'Warning'. Although it is just a simple H&S warning on a heavy-duty truck, the picture itself is quite disturbing. 

'Mind the Gap'. Altought is all around the country, it is best known for being London's icon. Legendary. Daily reminder of the fear of dropping a shoe or your phone on your day to work.

'Bed only'. Not london by anyways. What really caught my attention is that this tiny independent B&B , who's owner made a very botched job by covering the 'Breakfast' bit with a piece of paper. Cheap cheap cheap. 

'To the river'. Sounded to me like somebody got absolutely tired to giving directions to tourists in Cambridge so decided to make life easier for everybody by writing it on the wall.

'I can feel your smile'. Sort of flattering and self-indulgent at the same time. The worse thing is that even though for a second you thought that was written for you, in reality, it wasn't. Bummer. 

'16 pints today, please'. Found at Cambridge University, close to the Materials Department. Just saying...

Milkshakes and Ice-cream

It is funny how a simple Friday evening can get so complicated all of a sudden. We all have terribly busy weekdays, so that making up for all the 'wasted time' is absolutely essential for the sake of the full enjoyment of our miserable commuting lifes.

Let's say last Friday, we organises a very busy Friday Evening starting by one of the pop-up concerts celebrated at St Pancras Station that have been happening from February until last Thursday. Bringing the subject of pop-up events mentioned already last week, this Station Sessions were so pop-up that although were heavily advertised by Twitter, and in spite of going around the station a couple of time we were not able to find the stage.

Resigne by the epic failure after rushing through the infinite tunnels of the underground at King's Cross, we managed to make it on time, at the announced time. But still, we couldn't find them. Not very happy with the outcome of the start of the little adventure, we located the Eurostar counter, hoping to find a bargain ticket to go to Paris, as one of those crazy improvised things that happen spontaneously every now and then and become absolute topic of conversation for months. Unfortunately, although realisable, the improvisation would have costed us around 200 pounds per person. In stead, we decided to invest that money in ourself by treating us with a milkshake in a nearby coffee shop (while making a pact between us of not to mention the shameful attempt of going to Paris with not so successful result).

While escaping from the masses of the commuting home, I remembered how the new Concourse at King's Cross had just been renovated after months or probably years of works in the area. Looking like one of those very high-end new airports (*cough cough* Madrid Barajas), KC certainly showed an impressive new face, with a very interesting structural mesh at the ceiling, illuminated with an eye-catching pink light. Good one for the Olympics, we all thought.

After a few minutes decided we had enough of architecture for the day, my Twitter advised me of the exact location due to the guys in charge of the event. Turns out, the gig was going to happen, it was just that it was SO pop-up that literally bloomed in seconds. By the time we reached the Eurostar check-in area of the station, we finally bumped into the small crowd around the band: Clock Opera. The super-recognisable beard of the lead singer plus the red stripy jumper of the guitarist were noticeable enough to find them too at the Camden Crawl on Sunday. Small world.

As the time was passing by, the need for a very well reviewed milkshake by our friend K was digging an even bigger hole in our estomacs. After the band finished playing, without hesitation, we run into Drink Shop Do.

If I remember well, the previous weekend, we kind of did the same action of visiting this very quirky Coffee/Cocktail Bar on a Friday Evening with not very big results as it was fully booked and extremely busy. It was a shame as there was a competition going on to carve in clay the face of Lionel Richie.

This time we came earlier, but still, most of the tables were already booked so we had to use one table knowing firmly that we should leave it after an hour or so. 

Still not sure if it was just our imagination being affected by the hunger we had or it was just genuinely bad, but certainly the wait to be served took way longer than our guts wanted. In fact, the feeling of the time ticking to evacuate the table was not in our first wishes. After around 15 minutes of uncertainty, a waitress informed us that the ice-cream, (note that it was barely 5:30pm, on a Friday) had run out and therefore the milkshakes would have none of it. We all shared a common face of odd-ness, like in a cartoon, raising comically one of our brows, at the same time we were giving enormous disapproval looks. 

After recovering for the shock and after a couple of misunderstandings between the staff and us, we decided that the awkwardness was higher than our hunger for a very expensive milkshake, so we waved goodbye (and got our money back) feeling strangely betrayed and went on our hunt to find another place  to feed our empty souls.

Trying to come up with an explanation of actually the failed third attempt to stay at this place, we decided to move on and keep our root of tasks for the day, so we headed to Shoreditch. Blaming it on the uncertainty, we took the longest and most uncomfortable route to the East End, deeply ignoring the presence of the Overground or the "famous three" to Shoredich High Street. In stead, we took the painful tunnel from Pentoville Road up to the Northern Line branch to Moorgate, and have the walk or our lifes until we reached our destination (actually it is not that bad, but felt infinite). 

We finally reached Richmix with a terribly empty stomach. Fortunately arriving on time, we had the opportunity to see first hand a display of the polymeric clay street artist CityzenKane, which I have been admiring since I first set a foot on Brick Lane. Even though the display was not very big, it was a big oportunity to see a good range of his pieces all together, in stead of having to find them on the streets of London, where they usually get vandalised (CZN's Lord Jagannath has been removed recently)

On the Mezzanine floor, a small photography exhibition about British Sub-culture. Really good portraits. And it's free. We all love freebies, don't we? 

The last step for our very elaborated plan involved proper sitting down for a decent meal. Taking the overground back North, at its last stop, Highbury & Islington and a couple of bus stops after we arrived at my beloved The Beach Hut. Our first decision was to study the level of hunger to ask for an appropriate size for their delicious fish and chips. Still, no matter the size you ask for, the portions are always extremely big.

A big piece of cod with proper hand cut chips and a cream soda after, playing some Tic Tac Toe, our stomachs still had some room for the best thing about the Beach Hut: THE ICE-CREAM. Two glorious gigantic scoops of ice-cream, that in my case were Honey & Lavender and Coconut settled the night and we went home to die of joy. 

Friday evening not necessarily as smooth as planned, but definitely worth trying. 

People

Cake sale at Columbia Road

Chinese New Year 2011. Trafalgar Square

About to sing. Columbia Road

Actually singing. Brick Lane

 Free photographs. Columbia Road

American hero. Southwark

Heroine. Southwark

 

Folkish. Columbia Road

Cold Sunday Up Market