In my last blog I claimed that “job hunting is a full time job”. Who was I kidding? My NEW JOB is a full time job. Here I am one month on from that life of leisure and I find myself lodging in London near The Oval. Prior to landing the 6 month contract my forays south of the river have been limited to brief darts into the Tate Modern. Now my office overlooks the Thames and I’m learning about life betwixt The Oxo Tower and Battersea.
24 days ago I paid my first speculative visit to Vauxhall for an interview and I remember standing by the river in the freezing night air as I took a call saying the job was mine. I resolved to immerse myself in the locale, if not the river. Here’s a pictorial account of my journey downstream starting from my lodgings on a bright sunny morning.
My journey to work is less than spectacular it has to be said – a polluted walk through the arteries of Kennington clogged with crawling traffic and grim faced cyclists. I’m still the odd one out, taking a moment to enjoy the irregular old building subsumed by young upstarts devoid of architectural merit. Am I the only walker not babbling into bluetooth, wired for sound or gawping into a phone screen?
Even in this low-rise the leviathons of the city command the skyline – a reminder to mere street level folk of their subservience to those in a different fiscal plain. Until, in a game of one-upmanship, the sun emerges and decisively puts to bed any notion of superiority. My early start lends me the opportunity to swan around with my camera on the 7th floor of my Albert Embankment coal-face without fear of any odd looks.
To the south I can see Battersea and a swathe or real-estate whose value transcends monopoly board parlance. To the north – with a little zoom – Westminster and beyond.
And that’s where the fun stops, until lunchtime at least. One of the curious facets of the post-industrial urban oddity known as Vauxhall is the city farm squeezed into a pocket of land behind the elevated railway. There’s something delightfully reassuring about finding pigs in such a location.
Barely yards from the surrounding carmaggedon a horse rider nonchalantly trotts their steed across a side road into a small grassy enclosure for an early afternoon’s canter. Who would have thunk it?
And so passes 6 hours that feel like 6 days. Everyone else has headed for the weekend 2 hours ago and I take advantage of my finance directors abandoned office to capture a view that leaves me wondering how he gets any work done.
The lift arrives on demand – unheard of at rush hour when it’s the stairs or an interminable wait – and a chill night air greets me. The joggers have thinned out and I’ve time to capture a tower that Google Maps has yet to tag.
This is the business end of the South Bank and I’m the only person pointing a camera at the Vauxhall Bridge as buses file over carrying the last commuters of the day. There’s no hurry but I pick up the pace to keep warm and in no time Lambeth Bridge passes overhead.
Albert Embankment runs alongside the river and at this hour there are scant few pedestrians, leaving me in as much peace as an urban walk in London is likely to afford. To my right Lambeth Palace stands watch in the dark, barely heralded, perhaps worthy of a dedicated visit some other time.
The path dips beneath Lambeth Bridge and as Westminster hoves into view there are more people to be found – professional types, loners sat on benches and the young Japanese couples taking fruitless selfies on their iPhones with the Houses Of Parliament as backdrop. Planes fly over on descent to Heathrow and I like to think arriving visitors are enjoying views of iconic landmarks.
Everything changes upon exiting the underpass. The quiet dimly lit path is replaced by throngs of tourists groups drawn to the neon of some of London’s top tourist attractions. Shoals of visitors flit around the incongruously positioned London Aquarium (why come to London to see fish?). But the main draw here is the beautiful London Eye – lit up attractively against the night sky and visible from so many vantage points in the city.
The best position for a photo is from Jubilee Gardens set back from the Thames. My walk is energised by the bright-eyed enthusiasm of young school groups from Italy, France and beyond for whom this represents night-time adventure with friends! Memories are being made…
Next beneath the Hungerford footbridge – a structure I find very attractive at night. Originally constructed by Brunel (he gets everywhere) it was revamped in 2002 but 150 years on it still provides southern trains with access to Charing Cross station north of the river.
The final stretch of my walk tonight leads past numerous waterside eateries of varying standard and soon I’m upon one of my favourite Thames-side attractions. The Undercroft is an oddly conceived warren of angular concrete ramps and steps beneath the South Bank Centre that has drawn in skaters, stunt cyclists and grafitti artists for decades. Now under threat of expulsion for a proposed redevelopment the Undercroft community has been buoyed by a mass show of public support. Personally I can’t imagine a better advert for the south bank than one that organically attracts young people to express themselves in a safe and fun environment.
My riverside walk ends at Waterloo Bridge tonight. Beyond it the expansive National Theatre casts the mother of concrete shadows over the skyline although subtle coloured illumination takes the edge off its harsh design. I wish something similar could be achieved with the grotesque grey block of Westfield that hangs over the whole of Derby like some cuboid ash cloud…
I climb the stairs to street level and consider it time to find some hostelry in which to round off the evening. My instinct to walk to the north bank is curtailed by a policeman cordoning of the deserted bridge and I figure there’s probably some accident on the north bank. He’s concentrating on traffic so I’m able to sneak along part way and reel off a picture downstream of the magnificent light show in which banking skyscrapers reach the heights but St Paul’s takes the breath. Once the highest building in the capital I wonder what this panorama would have looked like in the days before chrome and steel.
Later, ensconced in a traditional London boozer tending a pint of Greenwich Meantime Pale Ale and reading the Evening Standard, I overhear a geezer at the bar moaning about the Waterloo Bridge closure. “Missed my bus I did. Waited for the next one but then they blocked it off cos of some drive-by shooting. It’s always the commuters that suffer ain’t it”. And that’s Londoners in a nutshell – always head-down and self-absorbed. They would do well to slow down and enjoy the show…