I stayed with my daughter and her housemates in Camberwell last night. I had to get to Liverpool Street Station for an early train this morning and asked them the best route. With the bus passenger's equivalent of the knowledge, I was reliably informed by my daughter's friend Rachel that the 42 from Camberwell Green was my best option, and that it was a favourite of hers.
I can see why. At 10 past 7 on a cold crisp morning I was going across Tower Bridge in the dark, with a spectacular view of the city lights, and a full moon above the river to the West. It was magical.
No matter how mundane my reason for being there, I always feel like a tourist in London, and there was something thrilling about seeing the place at that time, being part of the small band of travellers on their way to work, bringing the city to life. At that time there's a sense of purpose, and also a kind of intimacy, as if we were the crew preparing a stage or a film set for an epic crowd set piece.
I was early for my train so I got a coffee and some breakfast and watched the drama of the morning rush hour at Liverpool Street unfold, happy to have played my part in setting the scene.
Thanks, Rachel.
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