Letter from
Letter from
Ever wondered what lifes like in London? The same, really,
as in a lot of cities. A world apart, though, from life in the
country. Our monthly column, Letter from London, brings
you the highs and lows of one countryman living and
working in the capital – but whose heart remains
firmly back on the farm
LIFES different in London. Nobody takes any notice of sirens for a start. An ambulance rushes by – lights flashing, sirens wailing – and no one gives it a second glance. At home, it would spark a frenzy of speculation. Has smoking in bed finally done for Marge, wed wonder? Has someone died in the retirement bungalows (death row, as theyre known)? Has Paul been talking with his fists again?
You hear sirens at all hours of the day and night here. Its part of the fabric of permanent noise. And sleepings hard enough as it is, with all the cars passing a few feet from my front door.
Im getting used to it – but it was impossible to sleep at first. Its not just the noise, either, its the light – headlights reflecting on the walls, the neon light outside. Its never completely dark.
Its odd, though. Now its the other way round. I go home for a weekend in the country and find the silence and the dark unsettling.
Car not used
I dont use the car much in the week. It gets parked outside the front door when I come back to London on a Sunday night (well, as near to the front door as I can get which usually means three roads away) and doesnt move again until the following weekend.
Londoners moan about the public transport – but I dont think its that bad. Its crowded and smelly, but its better than having none at all. After years of arguing over whose turn it was to drive to the pub, its a novelty not to have to even think about it. Course, it means you drink more – but, hey-ho, lifes a bummer sometimes!
I reckon that new Mayor Ken Livingstones first priority should be to do something about the buses. Anyone would think theres a by-law stipulating that they have to smell of urine!
Part of the problem with driving is that the roads are so busy. It can take an hour to travel a mile sometimes. A 30mph speed limit, thats a joke – 30mph is an aspiration, not a constraint. Its so unpredictable, too. I sat in the car on the south circular for two hours last week. I could have crossed the whole county in that time at home. I could have covered more ground in the tractor, for heavens sake.
Pubs and nightclub
The traffic isnt the only thing that keeps me awake at night incidentally. There are about six pubs and a nightclub within a few hundred yards of the flat so I often hear people outside, shouting. I left for work one day this week and a man was sitting on my wall. Just sitting there. "Can I help you?" I asked. No, he said. So I went to work. Its what you do in London.
You wouldnt believe the number of homeless people here. Its strange – they must have existed in the country – but I dont remember seeing them. Here, great packs of them stand around in railway stations, clutching wine bottles. Being used to farming, Im no stranger to dirt – but the street people are covered in a different kind of dirt. A permanent dirt. One homeless man was walking around barefoot in Victoria station on Tuesday, his feet black and bleeding. I thought: How do people get like that. Like everyone else, though, I just walked past.