the beginning:



Arty tarting at Pimlico, no passport needed, in the tunnel leading out to the Tate. Lots of different famous paintings rendered in emulsion line the walls, but Rossetti seemed most appealing



Vauxhall...the Russian word for train station is 'Vauxhall' . There's plemty of debate on the subject, one explanation being because that's where a Russian delegation were taken to see trains in action in the 19thC and confusing the name of the specific place as the noun for all stations...Vauxhall's station name itself a remaining memory of the longstanding Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens...explaining the scrolled benches on the tiling at the station. The Gardens long gone now, but what a place of excitement it must have been, strolling through gardens lit with thousands of lanterns, with fireworks and music and balloon ascents in the 1840's!

All I remember of Vauxhall is waiting for the 77 bus home to Lavender Hill, with the stop sited just outside a  homeless shelter so  a disturbing and depressing place to hang about.


Stockwell, where the sun was as God's spotlight smack in the eyes as you emerged into the bleak arse end of nowhere; all rather a shock to my palest goth skintone. We didn't hang about. Going around Stockwell on a bus more recently, I notice that there's a shrine to Jean Charles de Menezes which I had missed to the lefthand side of the tube entrance. I hope it becomes a more permanent feature of the environment.


...and finally, figuratively as well as literally, the end of the line: Brixton - this is as far into SE london that tubes go. Ostensibly becuase a large lump of underground granite making it hard to tunnel, but really coz SE London is a bit shite - it's all done on buses from here on in.


They may have finally finished tarting up Brixton station but it hasn't changed its character. Was nice to see the wrapping off the station after years and years of tarps up - last time I commuted out of here regularily there were still holes in the bus stop flags made by nail bomb attacks.

As we passed through the ticket barriers two policeymen were arresting some guy for touting travelcards, and a drunk passes out on the street, the panhandled fag rolling out of his hand away down the street as his grip on it relaxed. We have a quick mooch round for old times sake as I used to manage the cinema here, and G lived in a street with Rat in the name. But we're both Brixtoned out, the local colour gets wearing really quickly day in day out, and we decided not to stop for food here but press on into the future by means of the stations that Sky Captain uses in the World of Tomorrow - yes! Onwards to the Jubilee Line extension...