As ‘Londoners’ we are expected to be veterans of the tube network. We are expected to know the map like the back of our hands; be used to the packed trains full of morning silent commuters, stinking of garlic or booze from the night before, loathed to look at each other while each and every one of us sits or stands silently, book in hand and earphones lodged. Well, yes, I became one of these people and strangely there’s something quite loveable about those old, dirty modes of transport. Without them the city would seem only half a city some how. Despite this, even as an adopted Londoner, there comes point where even for us this beloved London icon becomes just too much. The often rude and hostile riders, with not a manner in sight, cuts that love blind short and we begin to look elsewhere to meet our travelling needs.
My mode of choice? The two assets I was given at birth, that often I think people forget they have. I have abandoned the trusty tube in all but essential situations. Now, I walk.