“It’s a fucking zebra crossing you fucking four-eyed cunt”, he spat out as the bus narrowly missed the back wheel of his bike. He then continued to cycle on the pavement hatefully muttering to himself while his fingers clenched the handlebars. It’s not a shocking sight to me anymore. London is full of people pissed off and frustrated. Everyone’s late to something and it’s always everyone else’s fault. I’ve sat on the tube and felt anger radiate off businessmen so intensely I’m surprised I can’t see steam coming out the top of their heads. I’ve heard people shout “Oh my fucking God” in frustration as they burrow their way off the tube, turning back to yank their tote bags out of the bodies. People say that in London you’re never more than 100 feet away from a rat, but I also believe you’re never ten interactions away from someone having a go at you for an honest mistake. The tube is by far the most treacherous. No one, not even baby Olivia napping in her mother’s stroller is out of the firing line when it comes to people being pissed off by a minor inconvenience. Once I was walking off the tube toward the gates when the family in front of me crouched down to pick up their buggy to carry it up the stairs. Behind me I heard groans and watched in disbelief as people flew up the neighbouring stairs, fighting against the current of people bustling down to catch their train on the opposite platform. I’m sure most people who have lived in central London have experiences with impatience just like this. But for all that ugliness there are moments when strangers are kind. There are minute acts of kindness that hit you more acutely in the heart because they are despite the city’s accepted nastiness. 

I love seeing dogs on the Tube. Dogs on the Tube have a way of bringing people together. Where we usually sit opposite someone trying desperately not to look them in the eye, instead we look down, smiling at a wagging tail and round, puppy dog eyes between floppy ears. I’ve met some lovely dogs on the Tube, and through brushed hands while patting the same dog, have also met some lovely people. The other day I was on a bus reading a book and the elderly woman next to me started talking to me. She kept speaking about Bradly Walsh, the man who hosts The Chase. I had no idea why she was so fixated on him, but she kept going on about him. She must have been his biggest fan, she knew so many facts about him! Did you know that Bradly Walsh was born in Hertfordshire? Did you know that he was on Law and Order, Coronation Street, and The Sarah Jane Adventures? Did you know that he used to play youth football before his TV career? Because of this lady I do, and now so do you – you’re welcome. It’s not often that people talk to me on the bus, and I appreciate it a lot. When I walk in London I feel like I’m among horses with blinkers strapped on for race day; no one acknowledges anyone or sees anything. I’m surprised by how little an interaction it takes from a stranger to make me happy and I’m resolved to try and be less of a stand-offish, classic Londoner.

I read an article by Melpomene Hua titled The Curse and Blessing of Anonymity in a Big City, in which she talks about the positives and negatives of London City anonymity. She writes;

‘… there isn’t a consensus on what’s acceptable and unacceptable. Society can hardly force you to conform when there are no clear standards to abide by’.

Hua generally takes this as a good thing, and it can be. London anonymity allows for less rigidity of rules. If you want to tap dance on the train platform, all power to you. You can dress however you want and act however you want because, as Hua asserts, the diversity of cultures and backgrounds in such a mass of people means there are fewer overarching social rules. But this also has its downsides. London anonymity means you are unlikely to bump into your friends or your co-workers during random outings where you haven’t organised to see them. I once bumped into someone from university in a library in north London and that was a one-off miraculous chance encounter I don’t expect to experience in the city ever again. With no one who knows you around, and with the hundreds of faces meaning no one can remember what any stranger looks like the next day, people are more free to be dickheads. That snide comment to the mother holding up the loo queue or the barging of a person as you pass them on the escalator is something you would never do if your friends were present. All of this is helped by the fact that it’s so commonplace that your minute act of aggression will soon be replaced by another coming just around the corner. London is extremely bloated and the anonymity means you are less likely to be held accountable for acting like a prick. 

Well, I will try to hold myself accountable at least. I’ve been guilty of scathing looks and tuts on the tube before. I would like to try and be more patient with everyone, although I strongly believe that people who don’t take their backpack off on the tube deserve a horrible fate. But other than that, I will internally excuse people for more. I think London also creates a desperation where you need everything now and waiting feels like you’re on the precipice of some terrible disaster. But that’s not true. I can wait for people to go up the stairs at their own pace, and if I miss my tube stop because of crowds I can get off at the next one instead, it’s not life or death. 

This week I had this delicious cardamom bun from The Little Bread Pedlar. I loved how sticky it was on the outside. It was slightly expensive but I did sit in there for more than two hours reading so I liked to think I also paid for their charming hospitality. If you haven’t tried this bakery yet I highly recommend it. They have a great range of sweet treats, freshly baked bread, and I believe they also have a breakfast menu. If you do go, you’ll probably find me there.

Goodbye for now.

Read the Melpomene Hua article.