I know it seems strange given I am a Goldsmiths student that I have never been to Canary Wharf. It is, after all, only one stop away from my interchange at Canada Water. So often on the tube have I looked out the carriage window to see all those well-dressed people, an array of black, strutting through the station to one of the many class buildings I knew were out there.
Obviously, I had seen Canary Wharf on TV from one time or another.
So I decided to set after the rush hour and took my normal route home from New Cross Gate to Canada Water and from there to Canary Wharf. Now, I have been to Canary Wharf station before if only to stand there until a train came to pick me up because I had got onto a North Greenwich terminating train instead of a Stratford train, and didn't want change platforms as you would at NG. Therefore I was aware of just how large the station is and now long the escalators are.
Another thing about Canary Wharf station is that is linked to the Canada Square shopping centre, which is a bit of a... meh shopping centre. I suppose the reason I feel that way is because I am used to large and shiny shopping centres. Lakeside, Bluewater, Westfield Stratford... you get my idea. The feeling I got while walking through Canada Square was being trapped in a never ending line of small, expensive shops. They were all expensive, of course, as this is where the rich come out the play, to do shopping just metres away from their their place of work.
I was wearing dark clothes and the way people looked at me, they clearly thought I was 'one of them' -- a complete mistake. Still, I always feel it is best to blend in rather than stick out like a sore thumb. Together with my received pronunciation, courtesy of my grammar school educated mother, they were easily misled when I bought a coffee and tried to negotiate my way out of the maze.
After going to the very end of a long stretch, turning a corner and finding an escalator, I followed a woman with The White Company bags to the exit, around another corner. That led me to the front of Canada Square, where just ahead was Cadet Square. I walked straight ahead, wondering where it led. There were signs but I didn't really look at them at first.
Walking along, I found the site of the buildings beneath the grey sky morbid. Inside them were rows and rows of bored looking people at desks. I'm sure they all had good jobs but how tiring it must be for them to spend all day staring at a computer screen. Furthermore, I only saw about four or five people coming in and out of the buildings, so it seems most of them are chained to their desks. To think that will probably the future of most of us students. Either that or becoming a teacher.
I ended up at Westferry Circus, a secluded and quiet part of the Wharf. It strange because it really was very, very quiet. Like ghostly quiet. Even fewer people around there than there were in the Square and not a homeless person in sight near either of them. Yet sitting on a bench in Westferry Circus, just opposite the Thames, it reminded me of Duloc in Shrek.
So I sat there and finished my Latte. Once I had done that I stood up and looked around. To my surprise, there was not a dustbin in sight. It confused me because the place was impeccably neat and clean. The rich and powerful wouldn't have it any other way, being the centre of London's power. I suppose like me these people just walk around with their litter until they get back to their offices. It shows the class of people who do go for walks down there. I bet they don't spit either, one thing I love them before because it is something I cannot stand about some of the people from where I come from. I mean, seriously, who the hell spits? Animals. I went to a comprehensive school but if you spat from a height in the corridor, you got expelled on the spot. I knew a boy that happened to.
But still, no bins.
I circled the area near the hotels but still nothing. I walked back towards Cadet Square where, finally, I found several.
I returned to Canary Wharf that Friday evening, trying to find the DLR station to take me to Limehouse. I can't say there is anything much to spark my interest other than as a looking-glass into the future of my friends and many of my friends. If we don't end up as teachers, we're probably going to be some sort of private sector office monkey.
These people seem to have good jobs, but it makes me want to enjoy my short-lived freedom while it is still mine.
Obviously, I had seen Canary Wharf on TV from one time or another.
So I decided to set after the rush hour and took my normal route home from New Cross Gate to Canada Water and from there to Canary Wharf. Now, I have been to Canary Wharf station before if only to stand there until a train came to pick me up because I had got onto a North Greenwich terminating train instead of a Stratford train, and didn't want change platforms as you would at NG. Therefore I was aware of just how large the station is and now long the escalators are.
Another thing about Canary Wharf station is that is linked to the Canada Square shopping centre, which is a bit of a... meh shopping centre. I suppose the reason I feel that way is because I am used to large and shiny shopping centres. Lakeside, Bluewater, Westfield Stratford... you get my idea. The feeling I got while walking through Canada Square was being trapped in a never ending line of small, expensive shops. They were all expensive, of course, as this is where the rich come out the play, to do shopping just metres away from their their place of work.
I was wearing dark clothes and the way people looked at me, they clearly thought I was 'one of them' -- a complete mistake. Still, I always feel it is best to blend in rather than stick out like a sore thumb. Together with my received pronunciation, courtesy of my grammar school educated mother, they were easily misled when I bought a coffee and tried to negotiate my way out of the maze.
After going to the very end of a long stretch, turning a corner and finding an escalator, I followed a woman with The White Company bags to the exit, around another corner. That led me to the front of Canada Square, where just ahead was Cadet Square. I walked straight ahead, wondering where it led. There were signs but I didn't really look at them at first.
Walking along, I found the site of the buildings beneath the grey sky morbid. Inside them were rows and rows of bored looking people at desks. I'm sure they all had good jobs but how tiring it must be for them to spend all day staring at a computer screen. Furthermore, I only saw about four or five people coming in and out of the buildings, so it seems most of them are chained to their desks. To think that will probably the future of most of us students. Either that or becoming a teacher.
I ended up at Westferry Circus, a secluded and quiet part of the Wharf. It strange because it really was very, very quiet. Like ghostly quiet. Even fewer people around there than there were in the Square and not a homeless person in sight near either of them. Yet sitting on a bench in Westferry Circus, just opposite the Thames, it reminded me of Duloc in Shrek.
So I sat there and finished my Latte. Once I had done that I stood up and looked around. To my surprise, there was not a dustbin in sight. It confused me because the place was impeccably neat and clean. The rich and powerful wouldn't have it any other way, being the centre of London's power. I suppose like me these people just walk around with their litter until they get back to their offices. It shows the class of people who do go for walks down there. I bet they don't spit either, one thing I love them before because it is something I cannot stand about some of the people from where I come from. I mean, seriously, who the hell spits? Animals. I went to a comprehensive school but if you spat from a height in the corridor, you got expelled on the spot. I knew a boy that happened to.
But still, no bins.
I circled the area near the hotels but still nothing. I walked back towards Cadet Square where, finally, I found several.
I returned to Canary Wharf that Friday evening, trying to find the DLR station to take me to Limehouse. I can't say there is anything much to spark my interest other than as a looking-glass into the future of my friends and many of my friends. If we don't end up as teachers, we're probably going to be some sort of private sector office monkey.
These people seem to have good jobs, but it makes me want to enjoy my short-lived freedom while it is still mine.
