31 July 2026
A trip to south London yesterday involved train, bus and underground routes that are so familiar and well-trodden for me that I'm quite sure I could do them blind-folded.
Stamped into some gyrus or sulcus of my pre-frontal cortex that's allocated to "wholly-uninteresting-but-frequently-used data" is: which carriage on which end of which platform will deliver me to the closest exit, the short-cut to the bus, the names of every stop, the feel of the pavement in this spot, the smell of the seats on wet days ...
My feet move very fast and unhesitatingly, my consciousness is barely there.
My point is that when our surroundings are so well known, we stop seeing them.
These were a few random things I saw yesterday when I did actually look.
The rooftops and chimneys of south London, seen through the window of the train from Clapham Junction to Victoria were familiar and mildly comforting with some historical context of middle class betterment -
Every inch is monetised, while ironically, and sadly, the ostensible main attraction, the historic (billed as 'iconic') power station has been virtually obliterated from sight -
All of which led me to think (nostalgically but also with deep appreciation) of my flat of 10 years, just across the river from here. Which I moved to (it felt like a precious gift) when I worked up the courage to leave my marriage.
Not large but with a human dimension and context. On whose balcony I leaned into my maternal grandmother's green fingers and grew a riot of flowers.
These were views I never ever grew immune to, never stopped seeing or appreciating.
It was just one of many impermanent homes in my life, but I bloody loved this place.
