One of those mornings when you feel as though you’ve got the streets of Hackney all to yourself, but for a couple of shadows. When the sun is shining and you’re lucky enough to get the best seat in the coffee-house. When all there is to do is read the papers and buy flowers and hatch plans for the night-time.
Growing to realise that you can only comprehend the potential vastness of consequence by the actual vastness of consequence. That damage limitation is determining your every move. That characteristic thinking can cause uncharacteristic things to happen. That one strand of pain can’t hurt you anymore, but another has nostalgically taken its place. And that you are watching it all unfold from above. That’s when all that’s left to do is laugh and drink and read and admire the view.
What is it about train journeys through cities? Or train journeys to a city? There’s something so poignant in it. Part pride and part discovery and part choking-nostalgia. I’ve never forgotten the muddled way I felt as that S-Bahn train picked it’s grey way to Berlin. Or the familiar rise every time I saw the Hat Museum in Stockport and knew that Manchester could only be minutes away. And those sudden brick walls that enclose the train and seem to touch the sky and mean you’re in Liverpool now. Sometimes I don’t think you can be fully indebted to a city until you have looked upon it through the windows of a train.
And so, to London. The ways you can train to it and through it are so many and so varied that I could never tire of it. Here’s how I saw it (once).
erdem cat-eye acetate sunglasses | acne cotton-blend bomber | acne mohair-blend beanie
joseph cashmere tee | lpd new york cotton-fleece sweatshirt | jil sander cashmere sweater
equipment washed-silk shirt | t by alexander wang satin bomber | balmain coated tweed mini-dress
burberry brit suede mini-skirt | t by alexander wang piqué t-shirt dress | saint laurent leather shorts
interior one in which we remain linked to the dead (because the
dream inside us ignores trivialities like breath, or absence) – this
vast life is not under our control. Everything we have seen and
everyone we have known goes into us and constitutes us, whether
we like it or not. We are linked together in a pattern we cannot
see and whose effects we cannot know. One slub here, a dropped
stitch there, a bump encounter in that place, and the whole fabric
will be different once it is woven.