365 days later and the reminders holler our repetitively at three minute intervals. My daily journey on the tube is never made without my trusted mp3 player but never blocks out the din of the journey- the echoes of the trains hurtling along the tunnels, the multiple footsteps tapping in unison and the regular station announcements warning of delays, repair works and ‘the gap between the train and the platform’. These regular bursts of a human voice is as intimate a conversation as one will ever have on the tube but the ‘broken record’ is such a consistent element of the journey that it took several minutes of wondering if the reminder hollering at me not to leave my belongings behind was something that became a regular soundtrack to my daily urban life to complement the 1680 pieces of advertising that passes me by and the 389 times my image has been captured on security devices since joining Londoninium 724 days ago or if they have been resurrected for the day that it was…
Many have suggested that life in the capital have changed since 7/7, others say that the incident revealed the real Londonattitude. Part of the latter is attached to a theory that Londoners stand united and everyone walks in the same light. At such a time of reflection, such comments appear to be received with open-arms; it is a comment that brings a sense of a positive self but in reality are designed to target just that. Truths are being bandied about because they are truths that people want to hear and so then believe.
The truth is that in one year, a population have come full circle. From the empowerment of individuals to be vigilant both for oneself and for others (the ‘together we can beat it’ vibe) has reverted quite quickly back to the unfocused eyes that doesn’t allow you to look at anyone just above at the map and down at the floor. Papers and ipods are necessary to create dividers between others; any minimal conversations that may be made is always amongst long established friends and not fellow commuters. I have even been on some tube journeys where, when speaking with a friend has brought eyes burning and eyebrows rising as if the journey (apart from the 10decibels of noise from the tubes speeding through the tunnels) is some form of priory. On one particular journey the golden rule of words passed between strangers was broken when a middle-aged woman folded her then broadsheet Times to complain about the noise some three people away was making while having a phone conversation on one of the few parts of the journey where this was possible (Im no eavesdropper, honestly, but the poor guy was just about to gazumped on a house he had set his sights on and was desperately trying to retrieve it from the jaws of defeat).
The initial vigilance and the conversations held about the joint battle to eradicate the imbecile who leave items behind (apart from their rubbish of which the entire carriage gets doused with due to the removal of bins) and the affidavits of never travelling on an underground section of public transport have, for the most part both been confined to a ‘silly season’. Incidentally, the removal of bins is slowly being repealed by the use of transparent plastic bags on the stations situated at ground level which is welcomed over carrying rubbish for miles or, as is the fashion, leaving it behind on your seat (if you’re lucky to get one!)
I finally came to the conclusion that despite the very occasional statement, the tempo of the reminders about leaving items on the train or the platform had definitely slowed until the renewed presence of a threat was felt with the release of the video of one the bombing’s perpetrators, ‘justifying’ (if ever an excuse could be intelligible) for the actions of July 2006. The words, only ever brought to the western media being dubbed over in Arabic (from an English speaker) brought patrons back to those initial chilling fears. It appears that people returned from faceless public life. So must a people be ruled by the power of nightmares to be forced to become a society that we in turn complain has departed us? We adore the ‘community spirit’ but London is devoid of this, a casual glance at a passenger can bring verbal and physical abuse or at best a facial gesture of disgust. Very occasionally, at certain times of the day, usually outside rush hour, and on certain routes, the announcement of delays or wet leaves on railtracks bring a collective ‘tut’ and maybe, in extreme circumstances, a nod of empathy with a fellow traveller.
The only thing that will change a city is not the actions of an extremist agenda (we should not award them credit for so-doing) but a deep concerted effort from within. This does not need to come in the Opera Winfrey feel good tip of paying the toll of the person passing through after you but by bringing down the stifling personal bubble that is adopted in public life on London streets and start transcending barriers.
London is credited for being a global city and it, rightly, has captured the imagination and the ambitions of many British and Europeans as well as hundreds of thousands of others nationalities from every single continent. It is a fantastic stamping ground for the upwardly mobile, the career hungry and the experience-seeker but I think a massive opportunity has been missed by not creating a community spirit in this mish-mash society.
Speaking with fellow ‘foreign’ work colleagues (if Ireland can be considered foreign) it is amazing how their personality has been altered by their surroundings, the London syndrome symptoms are evident; automatically standing on the left of an escalator no matter where in the world you may be; developing that tube walk where you try and make it into the carriage Indiana Jones style as the alarm tones that the doors are shutting, or that strut as you slow down on realising that you wont make it before the doors close despite that burst of energy and your attempt to throw your head across the line before your feet. How you regain your composure after such an futile action is similar to the rings on the trunk of a tree; how long you have been in the city.
Late stages of the condition often manifest in getting really frustrated if you come upon someone standing on the right side of the escalator while you are on your powerwalk; standing at a point in the platform where you know you will be able to step off and walk straight out the exit at your destination; or similarly dashing to the end of the platform during the evening commute as, history has taught you that the chances of getting a seat or a less compact standing space are higher at both extremes of the platform than they are the centre (alas, everyone has seemed to learn that so the opportunity now rarely presents itself). An innate knowledge of the tube network and how to jump from train to train or service to service in order to complete the fastest journey time is also a factor.
Outside commuting, Eating pies and adopting a viewpoint that any competition will inevitably result in a win for the St Georges flag and then the complete desolation when this does not occur are paramount. As is imagining ways of cleanly assassinating ‘Red Ken’ for congestion charges, increases in council tax to fund the Olympics and generally for being a leader in a city where everyone believes they are in charge of their own destiny; it is the setting for a 21st century of the American dream. Sadly, finding a theme pub to match your nationality is also a common manifestation. For some reason, South Africans, Italians, Australians, Americans and, not least, the Irish, all seem to return to public houses adorned in the national colours and littered with token symbols of their native state. I remember hearing the saying about being ‘more Irish than the Irish themselves’ but despite rebelling against wanting to become an ex-pat, I find myself occasionally indulging in the surroundings of an Irish-owned pub (which, for the record is polls apart from an Irish-themed establishment) for the occasional properly poured stout, banter with those from areas that neighbour both ‘my’ London and my hometown. Why is it that the question ‘how long are you over here?’ is muttered within the first few seconds and is quickly followed by an analysis of the difference in daily life and how Ireland isn’t the same as it was when they left it behind. And why does practically every Irish person work as a nurse or on the tube? Although, in my own network, I am finding a few in the business sector and the odd straggler working in the media industry.
The public house filled with brethren you would, possibly, rarely conduct a conversation with in your old local, IS the community. So the personal bubble constructed in professional and commuter lives is only shed when common ground is met which can occur with work colleagues but is more likely in the heart of the nearest nation-themed pub or, in the modern web 2.0 mode, in the myspace and Bebos of this world where various anoraks of anything from comics to tv programmes, music to literature can share their interests and, in many cases, meet in person. Regardless, it appears that the way life is conducted in London results in secular groupings. Diversity does exist but it cannot be transcended. Once you find your grooves in the city it is difficult to switch tracks or weave in and out through various strands, it is certainly near impossible to merge. The individual can, possibly, exist in various identities; for instance the A&E nurse who adores crime novel, is a Family Guy geek with a weakness for Frank Sinatra and The Pussycat Dolls (!) can find those with similar tastes in some but not all and, eventually, associate themselves with one friend as being someone to debate the facets of Martina Cole, the other as one to swap Peter Griffin quotes with, a third as a Rat Pack fanatic and the fourth as being an oversized teeny-bobber but never the twain shall meet.
Maybe this is diversity, perhaps this is the core of independent living and a great way to develop in a peerless society where you set your own norms. But, it must also be true that with individuals revolving in their own circles, the overall sense of a group dynamic that provides the life and blood of a community is non-existent. Red Ken is using a campaign to highlight that there maybe eight million Londoners but only one London . However, without the community being driven as ‘one’ then there may as well be one Londoner living in eight million Londons . The political incentive to put citizenship ahead of nationality is key to this. Without wanting to personally adopt the ‘British title’ (I am not technically entitled to this and am proud of my own nation without needing to adopt a second one) it is significant that it be used to create a collection of people living in the one geographical area as to unite is to fasten the sense of belonging and, consequently, to transcend the barriers that exist in this single piece of land, bordered by the M25.
Many have suggested that life in the capital have changed since 7/7, others say that the incident revealed the real Londonattitude. Part of the latter is attached to a theory that Londoners stand united and everyone walks in the same light. At such a time of reflection, such comments appear to be received with open-arms; it is a comment that brings a sense of a positive self but in reality are designed to target just that. Truths are being bandied about because they are truths that people want to hear and so then believe.
The truth is that in one year, a population have come full circle. From the empowerment of individuals to be vigilant both for oneself and for others (the ‘together we can beat it’ vibe) has reverted quite quickly back to the unfocused eyes that doesn’t allow you to look at anyone just above at the map and down at the floor. Papers and ipods are necessary to create dividers between others; any minimal conversations that may be made is always amongst long established friends and not fellow commuters. I have even been on some tube journeys where, when speaking with a friend has brought eyes burning and eyebrows rising as if the journey (apart from the 10decibels of noise from the tubes speeding through the tunnels) is some form of priory. On one particular journey the golden rule of words passed between strangers was broken when a middle-aged woman folded her then broadsheet Times to complain about the noise some three people away was making while having a phone conversation on one of the few parts of the journey where this was possible (Im no eavesdropper, honestly, but the poor guy was just about to gazumped on a house he had set his sights on and was desperately trying to retrieve it from the jaws of defeat).
The initial vigilance and the conversations held about the joint battle to eradicate the imbecile who leave items behind (apart from their rubbish of which the entire carriage gets doused with due to the removal of bins) and the affidavits of never travelling on an underground section of public transport have, for the most part both been confined to a ‘silly season’. Incidentally, the removal of bins is slowly being repealed by the use of transparent plastic bags on the stations situated at ground level which is welcomed over carrying rubbish for miles or, as is the fashion, leaving it behind on your seat (if you’re lucky to get one!)
I finally came to the conclusion that despite the very occasional statement, the tempo of the reminders about leaving items on the train or the platform had definitely slowed until the renewed presence of a threat was felt with the release of the video of one the bombing’s perpetrators, ‘justifying’ (if ever an excuse could be intelligible) for the actions of July 2006. The words, only ever brought to the western media being dubbed over in Arabic (from an English speaker) brought patrons back to those initial chilling fears. It appears that people returned from faceless public life. So must a people be ruled by the power of nightmares to be forced to become a society that we in turn complain has departed us? We adore the ‘community spirit’ but London is devoid of this, a casual glance at a passenger can bring verbal and physical abuse or at best a facial gesture of disgust. Very occasionally, at certain times of the day, usually outside rush hour, and on certain routes, the announcement of delays or wet leaves on railtracks bring a collective ‘tut’ and maybe, in extreme circumstances, a nod of empathy with a fellow traveller.
The only thing that will change a city is not the actions of an extremist agenda (we should not award them credit for so-doing) but a deep concerted effort from within. This does not need to come in the Opera Winfrey feel good tip of paying the toll of the person passing through after you but by bringing down the stifling personal bubble that is adopted in public life on London streets and start transcending barriers.
London is credited for being a global city and it, rightly, has captured the imagination and the ambitions of many British and Europeans as well as hundreds of thousands of others nationalities from every single continent. It is a fantastic stamping ground for the upwardly mobile, the career hungry and the experience-seeker but I think a massive opportunity has been missed by not creating a community spirit in this mish-mash society.
Speaking with fellow ‘foreign’ work colleagues (if Ireland can be considered foreign) it is amazing how their personality has been altered by their surroundings, the London syndrome symptoms are evident; automatically standing on the left of an escalator no matter where in the world you may be; developing that tube walk where you try and make it into the carriage Indiana Jones style as the alarm tones that the doors are shutting, or that strut as you slow down on realising that you wont make it before the doors close despite that burst of energy and your attempt to throw your head across the line before your feet. How you regain your composure after such an futile action is similar to the rings on the trunk of a tree; how long you have been in the city.
Late stages of the condition often manifest in getting really frustrated if you come upon someone standing on the right side of the escalator while you are on your powerwalk; standing at a point in the platform where you know you will be able to step off and walk straight out the exit at your destination; or similarly dashing to the end of the platform during the evening commute as, history has taught you that the chances of getting a seat or a less compact standing space are higher at both extremes of the platform than they are the centre (alas, everyone has seemed to learn that so the opportunity now rarely presents itself). An innate knowledge of the tube network and how to jump from train to train or service to service in order to complete the fastest journey time is also a factor.
Outside commuting, Eating pies and adopting a viewpoint that any competition will inevitably result in a win for the St Georges flag and then the complete desolation when this does not occur are paramount. As is imagining ways of cleanly assassinating ‘Red Ken’ for congestion charges, increases in council tax to fund the Olympics and generally for being a leader in a city where everyone believes they are in charge of their own destiny; it is the setting for a 21st century of the American dream. Sadly, finding a theme pub to match your nationality is also a common manifestation. For some reason, South Africans, Italians, Australians, Americans and, not least, the Irish, all seem to return to public houses adorned in the national colours and littered with token symbols of their native state. I remember hearing the saying about being ‘more Irish than the Irish themselves’ but despite rebelling against wanting to become an ex-pat, I find myself occasionally indulging in the surroundings of an Irish-owned pub (which, for the record is polls apart from an Irish-themed establishment) for the occasional properly poured stout, banter with those from areas that neighbour both ‘my’ London and my hometown. Why is it that the question ‘how long are you over here?’ is muttered within the first few seconds and is quickly followed by an analysis of the difference in daily life and how Ireland isn’t the same as it was when they left it behind. And why does practically every Irish person work as a nurse or on the tube? Although, in my own network, I am finding a few in the business sector and the odd straggler working in the media industry.
The public house filled with brethren you would, possibly, rarely conduct a conversation with in your old local, IS the community. So the personal bubble constructed in professional and commuter lives is only shed when common ground is met which can occur with work colleagues but is more likely in the heart of the nearest nation-themed pub or, in the modern web 2.0 mode, in the myspace and Bebos of this world where various anoraks of anything from comics to tv programmes, music to literature can share their interests and, in many cases, meet in person. Regardless, it appears that the way life is conducted in London results in secular groupings. Diversity does exist but it cannot be transcended. Once you find your grooves in the city it is difficult to switch tracks or weave in and out through various strands, it is certainly near impossible to merge. The individual can, possibly, exist in various identities; for instance the A&E nurse who adores crime novel, is a Family Guy geek with a weakness for Frank Sinatra and The Pussycat Dolls (!) can find those with similar tastes in some but not all and, eventually, associate themselves with one friend as being someone to debate the facets of Martina Cole, the other as one to swap Peter Griffin quotes with, a third as a Rat Pack fanatic and the fourth as being an oversized teeny-bobber but never the twain shall meet.
Maybe this is diversity, perhaps this is the core of independent living and a great way to develop in a peerless society where you set your own norms. But, it must also be true that with individuals revolving in their own circles, the overall sense of a group dynamic that provides the life and blood of a community is non-existent. Red Ken is using a campaign to highlight that there maybe eight million Londoners but only one London . However, without the community being driven as ‘one’ then there may as well be one Londoner living in eight million Londons . The political incentive to put citizenship ahead of nationality is key to this. Without wanting to personally adopt the ‘British title’ (I am not technically entitled to this and am proud of my own nation without needing to adopt a second one) it is significant that it be used to create a collection of people living in the one geographical area as to unite is to fasten the sense of belonging and, consequently, to transcend the barriers that exist in this single piece of land, bordered by the M25.
