Living On The Bakerloo Line

Barknbite • 88 followers

Descend to the depths if you will, down aged escalators and along cold tiled corridors. Listen to hungry buskers and behind, sight old revived advertisements. Be pushed and buffeted by great wafts of air between you and the unknown hoards. Perfumers, the diseased, the young and their elders, loners, drunks, the mysterious and overdressed crossbreaders, the starers, sleepers, those who are always suspicious, the employed and the not so lucky.

Awaiting a train's arrival is temptation and wanting. First the tunnel blow, in one door, out another, magically transformed from place to place and nowhere in between. The tonnage steel rumble of lesser carriages in deeper tunnels, adorning designer fabrications, the blue and the burnt orange. Flickering lights, arcing blue flashes, the squeal and squawk of over-used brakes, a unique music for each inch of track and every dawning station. Owning your seat or standing in line, all mixtures talking, constant and indistinguishable. The smell of heated steel pervades the breath, reserved for jolting, jerking, shoving and shaking, a long-gone journey in the making.

Not for the faint hearted nor feigning polititions, the prize Stilton of underground travel, the mother of all pearls. Truly an avalanche of anticipation lost in time, rich in tapestry, blooded history and full flavoured. Stuffed and smoked, poached, roasted or grilled. Delivered like a wholesome platter, fed to thousands their daily fodder. The ultimate in five loaves and fishes, from Baker Street to Waterloo; Regent's park and Embankment, the prestigious to plain. The straight and narrow, bowler hats and umbrellas, back packs and carrier bags, all quintessentially Bakerloo Line credentials.

This is my line... And I'm sharing my living it.