Category: Canonical

  • Tunnels

    Tunnels

    I heard the tunnels knocking after midnight. “The Northern line is the loudest,” I said. I always say that. There were only one or two other people in our carriage; the country was still in lockdown.

    We sat opposite each other, speaking loudly through our masks. When the masks fell we’d fix them back in place. Our eyes did most of the talking when the trembling tracks filled the carriage. Your eyes were like doves.

    You spoke of how you’d check your work again once you got home. If you noticed a mistake, you’d log back in and correct it. Those words gave me comfort, coming from you. Your conversation was sweetness itself.

    I find consolation in how newspapers work, news websites even more so. In print, the second edition provides an opportunity to correct mistakes. Online, a story can be republished with tweaks. Every given moment, we’re given another chance.

    You rose for your stop, said goodnight. Safe travels. You went down into some other draughty corridor, to home, to sleep.

    This post includes references to the Song of Songs 5-6

  • Hidden in London

    Hidden in London

    To Charing Cross, where my friend and I are due to meet for a tour of the Tube station’s disused tunnels with Hidden London. Not wanting to be late, I arrive 45 minutes early and pass the time in the Waterstones at Trafalgar Square. The air outside is cold; I can see my breath.

    A tunnel beneath Trafalgar Square

    I took my first Hidden London tour in October 2016: the lost tunnels of London Euston. My girlfriend and I took in the station’s historical information imparted by the brilliant guides, the vintage advertising posters and, of course, the marvellous tunnels and ventilation shafts.

    I was hooked. I’ve since toured Aldwych and Down Street, with a ride on the Mail Rail at the Postal Museum thrown in for some variety, and now Charing Cross.

    When I get weary of the noise, the order and the restrictions placed on the surface of the city, I long to return to these tunnels.

    A vintage Tube train at Aldwych
    Overlooking a Tube platform at London Euston
    Equipment stored in a tunnel at Euston
  • Night walks

    Night walks

    There are people in the distance. For a few seconds I can’t tell which direction they’re walking in — towards me or away. I’m often the first to cross the road to avoid proximity. If we’re going in the same direction and I begin to catch up with them, I’ll slow down. Not necessarily because of Covid; I just don’t want to be seen when I’m on my night walks.

    Every night after work I pound the pavements in my bubble in north London like a flâneur. Work tends to finish around midnight. This is my latest lockdown obsession. 

    Sometimes I change the route, discover a new street, a house for sale, a dead end. I watch the empty Tube train going over the bridge (the Northern line is the loudest). I’m followed by a friendly fox. I pick up the pace when it’s uphill, I slow it down when it gets too hot under my coat. I put my head down when cars approach. I never look at my phone.

    I see the allotments with waiting lists that go on for years. I see the stained glass windows, the front doors, and the houses owned by other people.