Well here we are one week in, just one week ago I was finishing a week at work having started at 7am Friday morning. Then found myself standing on the platform I know so well and from which I started my early morning commute in all weathers on so many days over the decades I have lived here, on the outskirts of Cambridge.
Ready for a family outing or a midsummer’s night dream?
As we sat on the familiar rattling old carriage with broken springs prodding us from below, and buzzing electrics and clattering compressors bombarding our senses, I tried to snatch the sleep that I knew I would be yearning for later. I was briefly inspired by the thought that at least the first part of our journey back would actually be more comfortable than this.
A few commuters out of Cambridge left the train as it headed south and a few heading into London joined and emptied out with us when we arrived in the wet dark London night.
London Night
We stumbled into a burger bar for shelter, watching the umbrellas outside, as strangers stumbled out of pubs and bars splashing and grimacing through puddles into black cabs to take them home.
As it neared 10pm police vans positioned themselves in strategic locations between pubs and stations as the England Scotland match finished and the chants of rain soaked supporters rose above the city street noise. We lingered over chips and burgers in the dry, as long as we could, then moved up Old Broad Street to an old after work pub that was still open but emptying of fast. The minutes dragged on but we wanted to save our legs and keep dry until the stroke of midnight and the Phoenix was open until 23:30.
Sat by the coffee machine we tried to be good and ordered coffee and tea but that caused some consternation, apparently the machine was off or they were out of milk or both, so I succumbed to the easy option of an after work pint of London ale as I had on many other Friday nights over the years, before starting the commute back home. This night felt different.
Again we lingered, watching the dwindling numbers diving into taxis and hearing the raggle taggle songsters gradually running out of steam after a rousing rendition of the national anthem. The golf came on the big screens and the pace slowed down. Finally it was time to empty the bladders one last time and walk the last few yards of Friday around the Bank of Englang under Tivoli corner crossing the River Walbrook hidden deep below our feet twice to face the Royal Exchange.
The Royal Exchange site of the original trading heart of London and the steps whence we are about to leave
Over to the right the Shard, London’s tallest building glows at us from the foot of London Bridge where the Romans marched in to build the first settlement here just twenty centuries ago.
We positioned ourselves out of the rain and gazed out expectantly until the bells struck midnight and the rain miracously stopped. We were off!
Next stop Cambridge
Round to the left and briskly up Cornhill, only to be held for ages at traffic lights as we had only covered the first half mile to leave the confines of Roman London’s square mile. Up the Mile End Road there were a few more people about. A dodgy guy accosted us with some contraband perfume but scarpered when he spotted the go-pro clipped to Isy’s shoulder.
Opposite the London Hospital, past the Blind Beggar pub, at the end of the mile, we turned north up Cambridge Heath Road and started heading home. Next turn was east again along Roman Road over the A12 and the River Lea at the old Roman ford to Stratford and the Olympics.
In the gloom of the towpath in the early hours a late night straggler was shocked into a string of expletives at the sudden sight of us when he looked up from his phone and almost fell into the river with it.
The air was fresh and cool and clear as we walked across the deserted Olympic site passing occasional house parties booming and chattering with laughter into the night sky oblivious to as we walked past mingling with the urban foxes below. We crossed the imaginary Greenwich meridian as we began the slow steady climb up the side of the valley then turned north again up Leyton High Street and up the hill to the forest.
All quiet on Leyton High Street at 2am on a Saturday morning.