Jessica McFarland

Today I spent some quality time at the Deptford Market. That’s in Deptford, South East London.

This thrice-weekly street market reminds me of nothing so much as China. Or Brazil. It’s also been compared to Fiji…I think you see what I’m getting at. It’s a little piece of the developing world, but within easy walking distance of the Docklands Light Railway.

And it’s totally awesome.

I don’t get much out of the plastic home goods, the marked-down groceries, the piles of rotting fish, or the designer knock-offs (though I did buy a maxi dress…I’m “being the trend” at a fraction of the price!). It’s all interesting to look at, but I wouldn’t want most of it in my house…plus I started to hear arguments break out about incorrect change–slightly frightening.
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I walked home from work the other day. I logged four miles in an effort to shake off the boredom of my usual routine.

My route took me over Tower Bridge, that stately yet functional symbol of London. The first time I saw it up close, I was struck by the grandeur of it. That plus the Tower of London itself close by put me in mind of kings and wars, love and death, and all the associated pains of a long, long history.

These days, it’s just a bridge crowded with tourists. I tried to remember how it used to make me feel, and I developed an acute and dizzying nostalgia for the days when London was fresh and new. (Not advisable for when many feet above a body of water.) The wonder and difficulty of my first few months here became edited into a warm glow that creeped over the corners of my vision.

I took a few deep breaths and kept going.
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Yesterday I spent a good couple of hours looking at swimsuits. (All in a day’s work.)

After a while, the strangest thing happened. I suddenly had this wild and weird urge to be in Florida.

Now, I’ve felt like I’ve needed a vacation for quite a while now. The weather is usually cold or windy or rainy or some depressing combination of the three here, and I inevitably spend the rare occasional sunny day indoors. It’s supposed to be summer, and what’s more, my American upbringing has implanted the desire for 3 months off deep in my psyche.

But Florida, really? I had no idea my situation was that bad.
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On one of the first glorious days of late spring, I donned flip flops and decided to go for a walk after work to explore my neighbourhood. I brought only my phone and my camera and had a mini-adventure, which I documented with the camera. (Not the phone, I’m not that technologically advanced.)

I walked up quiet residential streets. I met many commuters on their way back from the train station. I stopped to take a picture of a lamp post:

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There are those who would consider the London Underground to be a kind of hell; certainly it is hot, crowded, and inevitable.

But I’ve just this week been awarded a fully-functioning line in the form of New Cross Gate station and the newly-opened East London branch of London Overground. It’s not precisely the Underground, but it does connect seamlessly to the Jubilee Line, as well as going under the ground (and under the water). It’s on the new maps and everything. Six of one, half a dozen of the other: I’m satisfied.

And to celebrate, I’ve decided to make a list of ten things that don’t suck about the London Underground:
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