The Energetic Kiss of London
The last two days have been stolen by swapping Wars of Dissolution stories with hard-drinking Anglo-Serbs and bonding over a shared love of cooking with a charming American multi-millionaire who was proud to have voted Bush. While it is great fun to swap recipes and discover my Serbian swearing is still up to scratch, I need to be home. My heart needs to be resting canalside.
I might be a southerner who loves the north, but right now I want to be inside the energetic kiss of London. Sitting at the station, all I want is speed. I want the landscape to blur. Synchronicity seems to offer hope of that. At the exact moment I pull out of Leeds, the iPod offers Gone Dead Train. Randy Newman singing: ‘Burning down the rail…’
However, instead of a jump edit between Yorkshire and King's Cross, there is an hour of static landscape. Starring at the same rough curtain of trees as the fields catch slow motion rain. The area outside Newark Northgate offers little to eyes waiting on signalling failures to be sorted.
We eventually push through Grantham – the town that spawned a monster – and I begin to detect the faint gravitational pull of the capital. The 14:40 feels it as well. The attraction accelerates us and we turn non-stop. There is enough speed to make station signs unreadable and render Stevenage a dirty smear.
We do not slow till just outside of Highbury. My heart somersaults with childlike joy when we pass the Emirates Stadium. Even after the last few games, a glimpse of 30-feet of Arsenal iconography adorning the curved wall of dreams still guarantees a smile.
Graffiti blooms in dense abundance. Green disappears from the palette and building after building bears the tired scars of pollution. I am responding to the beauty of familiarity, the beauty of recognition. The end of every small exile is made sweet by the love of home.
I might be a southerner who loves the north, but right now I want to be inside the energetic kiss of London. Sitting at the station, all I want is speed. I want the landscape to blur. Synchronicity seems to offer hope of that. At the exact moment I pull out of Leeds, the iPod offers Gone Dead Train. Randy Newman singing: ‘Burning down the rail…’
However, instead of a jump edit between Yorkshire and King's Cross, there is an hour of static landscape. Starring at the same rough curtain of trees as the fields catch slow motion rain. The area outside Newark Northgate offers little to eyes waiting on signalling failures to be sorted.
We eventually push through Grantham – the town that spawned a monster – and I begin to detect the faint gravitational pull of the capital. The 14:40 feels it as well. The attraction accelerates us and we turn non-stop. There is enough speed to make station signs unreadable and render Stevenage a dirty smear.
We do not slow till just outside of Highbury. My heart somersaults with childlike joy when we pass the Emirates Stadium. Even after the last few games, a glimpse of 30-feet of Arsenal iconography adorning the curved wall of dreams still guarantees a smile.
Graffiti blooms in dense abundance. Green disappears from the palette and building after building bears the tired scars of pollution. I am responding to the beauty of familiarity, the beauty of recognition. The end of every small exile is made sweet by the love of home.
Labels: Arsenal, Canalside, King’s Cross, Wars of Dissolution
posted by David at
9:35 PM
5 Comments:
I would love to read about your cursing Anglo-Serbs and the Bush voting American.............
My cursing was of the 'jedi govno' form, not the vodon form. All I can say was that the Bush voter and I were on the same page of the recipe book.
'Grantham – the town that spawned a monster'
This made me smile - we are of a mind here.
Puss
On reflection, maybe monster is not a strong enough word.
"right now I want to be inside the energetic kiss of London" ah that is just a beautiful way of saying it...I can see that. I am opposite...sometimes I stand near my own mythago woods and imagine, and the stillness rocks me about inside my head... you mentioned being in Port Macquarie... inland from there is amazingly beautiful... there is something there, older.
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